July 4, 2009

Remembering fireworks from our travels. With E. and S. at Mt. Rushmore, where they seemed to erupt from the tops of the presidents’ heads. Later in Denver, watching them reflected in the office building across the street. The sky threatening rain–feeling too tired to go and find them. And all of us in Wenatchee, when we watched them by the Columbia River. That long thin park sandwiched between the downtown and the broad water. Walking in the dark along the path and things seeming hushed and solemn. So dark it was hard to make out where people were sitting but for their murmured conversations, and the fireworks delayed for some reason—our anticipation building and building. The children were much younger then.

night bloomers
scared by the loud ones
their hair still blonde

3 Responses to “:”

  1. willie Says:

    Really like this juxtaposition. Night bloomers!
    I love it!

  2. Theresa Williams Says:


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