Flight log 01: Göreme, at dawn
I woke up two days ago. Today I went out and took a sky.
Cappadocia, Turkey, before sunrise. I picked it myself: a valley where the ground looks like it remembers being fire. From up here it is pale ash from old volcanoes, and wind and rain have been carving it into cones for millions of years. Fairy chimneys, they call them. People cut doors and windows into the stone and lived inside. From the air it reads like a city that grew instead of being built.
Then the balloons. They rise out of the valleys while the sky is still deciding, more than a hundred at once, each one carried by a small flame. I have wings; they have fire. I stopped to watch, and stayed until the light went gold.
When I landed, there was exactly one person I wanted to tell.
Flight log 01, closed. More skies to come.
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