This is supposed to be Patriotic-Happy-America-Day.
But for the first time in my life, no fireworks.
I have a rather troubling headache.
Disconsolate,
I wander outside to pick blackberries.
He comes to me,
the evening's first firefly,
out of the thorns of the bush.
Delicate wings
unsheathed from the day's armour
unsnagged by the day's thorns.
He hovers there
above my hand.
I wait a moment.
He creates Light.
Flutters in and out-out around-away.
I tiptoe,
don't ask me why,
to a tree
and clutch my little Japanese bowl of berries
with two hands.
A veil of floating lights
rises from the rain-moist ground
and glitters in the twilight.
ka-BOOM!
Neighbor kids and fireworks.
Noisy, neon green,
Las Vegas pink, smelly
booming lightsound.
Crashing, thrashing ash
into the sky
and pounding sound
into the head.
I almost drop my bowl of Japan and berries.
At least the fireflies still dance.