Tag Archives: Fourth of July

Happy Fireworks, Everybody

Highly Flammable, Rambling Rose, This Just In!, , , ,

As I sit in my chair facing out into my garden watching the ever darkening evening approach, the flash and bang of incendiary devices commences. I am reminded.

Oh, right. Tomorrow is the Fourth of July!

This means, I am currently bombarded by amateur firecracker smiths’ efforts to celebrate early—no doubt drunk on freedom or something wetter sold in cardboard cases at every gas station in the fifty states.

Hang on…Firecracker Smith? Is that the right title? What is the term for someone who professionally handles fireworks? Checks the internet…ah yes, a pyrotechnician! At least, that is what their lawyer will assert should they burn down any important buildings.

Sidebar: someone who unprofessionally sets off fireworks is typically called “Lefty” or “That crazy bastard” by their neighbors.

I am thinking of Fourth of Julys past. I discuss this with my mother-in-law— specifically the reason why we stopped going to the pancake breakfast hosted on behalf of veterans in Grandville, Michigan. I’m surprised she’s forgotten.

Me: “Don’t you remember, Laura? That first year we moved here, your darling grandson overturned his trike (which weighed over 100 pounds—the bike, I mean, but probably the kid did too) and smashed his face into the concrete requiring a trip to the emergency room because he bit through his lip!”

MIL: “Oh. That’s right. That was an awful day!” Laura replies.

Since then, we’ve managed tamer 4ths, including an unforgettable cruise on the S.S. Badger many years ago, but I’ve never entirely trusted the holiday either. (Personally, I believe the Fourth of July was invented to test parents’ patience and their ability to keep their children alive.)

The weather we are having lately tips into the 90’s. It is 10 P.M. here and it is still 86° outside. That is now considered a ‘cool’ temperature.

If you are in Arizona, you are no doubt laughing your proverbial derrieres off. For you, it doesn’t really start to get hot until there are three digits beside that degree symbol. (At that point, the little round circle is saying it is hot enough to boil an egg.) I am never going to move to Arizona. I am too white to survive the melanomas that would spontaneously erupt every time I stepped outdoors.

I would much rather stay home, in air conditioning, and read or work on a jigsaw puzzle. Instead, I will walk with my son along the Buck Creek Trail as we have in years past and set up our blanket to lie down and watch the stars be put to shame by flashier if shorter-lived displays. I will suffer the loud concussive booms of the many firework enthusiasts—those with all their fingers and those who can no longer count to ten without taking their shoes off—and appreciate that my son still enjoys this journey with his mom.

And then I will gratefully haul my child homeward, where ice cream awaits to celebrate surviving the heat of the day.

I wish you much joy on your Fourth of July and we will hope that you can count your gratitude on all ten of your fingers come Monday!

Walking Buck Creek Trail

Art, Family, Isolation Recreation, Poetry in Motion, Thinks I Like, Writing, , ,

There was no plan before we left.

We just took off together—as if lured by sirens singing.

Beneath the stars, you steered me to the places that you love,

made mysterious by the flare of rockets red glaring.

Through the cemetery and down the hill

To where the waters waited,

And the path was still and free of people.

We walked along Buck Creek Trail that Fourth of July.

Chasing fireworks just out of reach.

The flash bang of concussions meeting us in the dark.

As slick, silent waters slid past a fallen tree.

Fireflies flickered, semaphore signals, beneath a gibbous moon.

When I was younger, I thought it was called a ‘Gibbon’ moon.

I couldn’t help but wonder…

Do monkeys dance bathed by lunar luminescence thinking it is day?

Or does the Man in the Moon wear a simian grin?

My, how that mischievous moon loomed large.

A low-hanging pendulum ticking in the tree tops.

Playing peek-a-boo behind Earth’s shadow

While the jealous sun searched for its hidden lover.

And as we walked through the humid musk

Of night smells and sulfur from plentiful explosions.

Every inhalation left an acrid taste upon the tongue.

Around each curve we anticipated the next cascade to come.

But we never quite caught the pattern of their detonation.

Overhead, we spied

…A glimpse.

…A spark.

A flickering emanation—a sky lantern floating.

The softness of a scene unmarred until…

…BANG!

Followed by an emptiness–ears still ringing.

Eyes straining for a light in the dark.

Then the skies rained down with jeweled profusions.

The distant constellations twinkling in the smokey aftermath.

When the pyrotechnics paused

We waited…wondering…

“Was that it? The last one?”

But no.

A serpentine hiss trailed an invisible propulsion

Launching upward, arcing toward the vault of heaven.

Earthbound, we held our breath in anticipation…

Will it wax with radiance, or fizzle, wither, and die?

Or will it flower, hanging time itself upon a belt of sky?

Silver sparks streak, descend.

Causing seizures of joy in small children.

Cascades of tinsel dripped down from a dark blue heaven.

You laughed and pulled me forward through the night

Following an ever-moving horizon.

You never caught them—the manmade stars you chased.

But then, that was never your goal.

You wandered the night in search of adventure.

Lured by a golden monkey moon winking down at us,

As if imparting a cosmic joke before we departed.

Back through the cemetery we went

Where the little chapel hides in hedgerows

Sparklers briefly crowning the trees in red, white, and blue tiaras.

And there was no tomorrow yet to fear.

There was only the night and the steps we took beneath a silvery moon.

While the fire flies danced to a tune only they could hear…

…in the dark

…on the path

…along Buck Creek Trail.

Walking Buck Creek Trail

From My Brain to Yours, Isolation Recreation, Photographic Memories, Poetry?, Thinks I Like, Welcome To Autismland: Population YOU!, Writing, , , , , , ,

A Remembrance—by K. L. K. Salazar

There was no plan before we left.

We just took off together—as if lured by sirens singing.

Beneath the stars, you steered me to the places that you love,

Made mysterious by the flare of rockets red glaring.

Through the cemetery and down the hill

To where the waters waited,

And the path was still and free of people.

We walked along Buck Creek Trail that Fourth of July.

Chasing fireworks just out of reach.

The flash bang of concussions meeting us in the dusk.

As slick, silent waters slid past a fallen tree.

Fireflies flickered, semaphore signals, beneath a gibbous moon.

When I was younger, I thought it was called a ‘Gibbon’ moon.

I couldn’t help but wonder…

Do monkeys dance bathed by moonlight thinking it is day?

Or does the Man in the Moon really wear a simian grin?

And how that mischievous moon loomed large.

A low-hanging pendulum ticking in the tree tops.

Playing peek-a-boo behind Earth’s shadow

While the jealous sun searched for its lover.

And then, we saw it

…A glimpse.

…A spark.

A sky lantern floating in the dark.

A flickering emanation

The softness of a scene unmarred until…

***BANG***

Followed by an emptiness–ears ringing

Eyes straining for illumination.

Then the skies rained down in jeweled profusions

Firecracker constellations.

And as we walked through the humid musk

Of night smells and sulfur from plentiful explosions.

Every inhalation left an acrid taste upon the tongue.

Around each curve we anticipated the next cascade to come.

But we never quite caught the pattern of their detonation.

When the pyrotechnics paused

We waited…wondering…

“Was that it? The last one?”

But no.

A serpentine hiss trailed an invisible propulsion

Launching upward, arcing toward the vault of heaven.

Earthbound, we held our breath in anticipation…

Will it wither, fizzle, die?

Or will it flower, hanging time itself upon a belt of sky?

Silver streaks descend

Causing seizures of joy in small children.

Cascades of tinsel dripping down

From a dark blue heaven.

You laughed and pulled me forward through the night

Following an ever-moving horizon.

You never caught them–the man-made stars you chased.

But then, that was never your goal.

You wandered the night in search of adventure.

Tempted by the golden monkey moon winking down

As if sharing a cosmic joke before we departed.

Back through the cemetery we went

Where the little chapel hides in hedgerows

Sparklers briefly crowning trees with red, white, and blue tiaras.

And there was no tomorrow yet to fear.

There was only the night and the steps we took

While the fire flies danced to a tune only they could hear…

…in the dark

…on the path

…along Buck Creek Trail.

**********

Buck Creek Trail - 4th of july
The author’s son, recording fireworks with his iPad along the titular trail.