FIREWORKS: A LOG

On the eve of The Fourth, the evening of The Fourth, and the evening after The Fourth, I sat alone on the porch, under a diligently waxing moon, and listened to the popping and booming of fireworks.  The moon was my visual, and it certainly was beautiful, attempting to fill the role of exploding light.

But, sadly, it wasn't quite flashy enough to suit me.







When The Yard Man returned home from  his horse-related event, celebrations were still going on.  We had a chance to go and watch fireworks in honor of The Fourth*.

 
"Watch," being the operative word here, Viewer  Dear.
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*Sixth of July fireworks. In a field, about a mile from the thronging multitudes who were watching up close.  I rather enjoyed this small loving crowd, of which we and two friends were a part, groping for spots to throw blankets and set up chairs in the shaggy grass.