Fireworks can lift me right up out of myself. A momentary ecstasy. Some spray and fall like golden waterfalls. Others spread open like red or green or blue blossoms. There were some this year that, just as they seemed spent, suddenly crinkled for a second into silver lacework. I would be lifted up into their beauty. Then I would become aware of the people seated around me. Then I would be swept up again into the light and shapes and color, exploding, fading. A grand way to celebrate freedom.
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