We look out a window, past gently billowing curtains, to a rooftop scene of Paris. There is something magical about seeing a hot air balloon. Somehow, though our feet are firmly planted, the view of someone flying through the air lets us become airborne as well. We fly above the antique store, the French bakery, and feel the wind and sun on our faces. The birds are our companions and the treetops are a sea of green below us.