The balloon keeps rising. It leaves the celebrating crowd. As it rises it grows smaller. The gay red becomes a dark dot against the evening sky. It is free, unencumbered. Its string dangles. Then it disappears. The balloon has escaped. Uncontrolled, except by the helium it relies on, and except for the wind. It will go to someplace unknown to us, It is controlled only by the wind, by its own light air, and Gravity, which eventually will bring it down.