pedro and i met the air. we had written it letters. the air was assembling pieces of cloud.
the air told pedro and i about the oldest form of human-carrying flight technology. it told us about a fire-starter in its village. she had a flame halo.
pedro went away from us to discover new fire words. “there should be a word for each kind of
fire that exists” he said to me.
“there is a flame in this hot air balloon” i said to pedro. the air watched us talking.
“humans have explored the entire horizontal world, but they rarely think to explore
vertically,” i said. the air nodded.
pedro and i love air.
the air taught us about how the oldest form of human-carrying flight technology started with floating eggshells and airborne lanterns. pieces of things befriended the air before humans befriended it. birds are not included in this.
“people think too much about birds” pedro said. the air looked quizzically at him.
i think too much about people. the tree line looks like a silver dollar when it reflects the sun. it makes the shape of a man’s face.
pedro is not even speaking a language. the air is on my side. pedro is confused. he thinks he is a school right now. he thinks the air is a chalkboard, inside of him.
“i am on my 49th word for fire!” pedro said. the air rolled its eyes.
the air is going to throw pedro overboard. it does not love pedro the way it loves me.
