Tuesday, July 4, 2000

3:07 a.m. A small snapshot of a not very glorious moment in fireworks history, but you have to believe me when I say: they were wonderful in person. My camera is pallid and timid and sluggish when it comes to firing up between flashes and so I have captured the aftermath of the flash, rather than the full flower of the moment.

My words will have to suffice. There were loud reports and music carried in another direction; plumes of smoke and jewels throbbing on black velvet.

There. Fireworks.

Every year I hear the explosions and every year I appreciate what a luxury it is to not fear the sound. I've never known bombs raining down on my hometown. Whenever I hear pops and crackles in the street, I always assume it's firecrackers -- never semiautomatic weapon fire. To jump to these benign conclusions can only mean one thing: I am blessed.

I hope you are, too.