I imagine the scene: the little girl running out of the birthday party, waving her prize. She trips, falls, lets go, cries both for the skinned knee and the loss of her balloon, soaring away into the sky. to land, well, anywhere, including in the woods by my house. They are so bright and reflective that you can see them from half a mile away, so they make a big area of woods seem trashed. When I can reach them with a branch I pull them down and carry them home to the garbage. Like I did with this one.