The Sky Has Three Rooms

That morning, Polly counted balloons until she lost count. "How many can fly?" she asked. "The sky here is divided into three parts," the pilot said, "and only one hundred and fifty-four flights each day. Everyone has a place, and everyone is safe."

Under every balloon, a chase truck followed on the dusty roads. The pilot spoke on the radio, and the crew below answered. They watched the balloon all the way, like a family watching over a kite.

Then came the landing. The truck stopped in a field, with a flat trailer behind it. The pilot gave a breath of fire, waited, and let the balloon sink. Softly, gently, the basket landed right on top of the trailer.

The passengers cheered. The crew folded the huge balloon and packed it away. Polly sat on the pilot's shoulder while everyone celebrated in the morning sun.