It's the night of July 3rd, and from our balcony I can see five different displays of fireworks. The big display is the annual Sylvan Lake show to the southwest, putting out colorful pyrotic pom-poms so huge that the THONK-THONK of the send-ups rolls across the lake and echoes against southern Pontiac like thunder.
The rest are indie displays, made possible in part by Fred the illegal fireworks salesman, and viewers like me. It's been quite lovely. The people 2 doors down have been putting on nightly shows at dusk for the past week. They must spend thousands of dollars. Maybe it's worth it to them since they know the neighbors are all on their porches, balconies and lawns, enjoying it along with them. After particularly flashy pops, one can hear clapping and sometimes whistling from all the nearby streets. It gives me a warm feeling about our neighborhood. The people a couple streets in either direction have decided to give our street a run for the money, with their own illegal displays. Hurrah! More pretties! For some reason our neighborhood is just bursting with either patriots or pyromaniacs. Or both.
I get too excited about fireworks, I think. I find myself grinning and clapping my hands like a 4 year old. Fortunately, I've gotten to see a whole bunch this year. I'm excited for tomorrow night. That ought to keep me til next summer.
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