We often see hot air balloons drifting over our neighborhood. Sometimes we can hear the faint whoosh of the burner flame when they are flying low. One morning a balloon unexpectedly landed in the middle of our street. We all rushed out of our houses to see the amazing spectacle. It was much larger up close than I imagined. This was quite a sight, as the basket touched down and the rainbow of colors deflated into a puddle on the road. 
Even though the hot air balloon sightings have become commonplace around here, they never seem to lose their exoticism. For me, the balloons are a reminder that even here in our ordinary suburban neighborhood, there is the possibility of strange, wonderful and even magical events taking place, perhaps at this very moment. Spiders spin their intricate webs, a perfect blue egg sits in a nest, flowers turn their heads to the sun and open into dazzling colors. Behind each familiar facade of our peaceful street, we perform our own small miracles: leaps of faith, daring deeds, resurrected dreams, and acts of kindness, courage and forgiveness.
My Suburban Life 