The Flush of Living

My basket lifts from ground; I, eager, stand inside it as I drift into blue air. I see below - the slowly shrinking land, above my head, a giant yellow pear. She takes me high, and as I’m looking down, I view the checkered rows of each green lawn around the center of my little town and tiny houses. . . Soon they all are gone. I breathe the clouds. . . then happiness-immersed, I skim tall mountain peaks; I’m sailing wind. And if my big balloon should tear or burst, my soul will not forget. Death can’t rescind the flush of living. My! What fills the sky? A flock of snow white geese comes rushing by. For Brian Strand's YOUR PICK any theme/form max 14 lines Poetry Contest