Painted Sky

Along with a few hundred thousand of our closest friends, my family and I attended the big Fireworks Extravaganza that accompanied the seventy-fifth anniversary of the opening of the Golden Gate Bridge. When I say that we "attended," I mean that we stood along the shore some miles away and watched the bright flashes in the sky. It was, as these things go, impressive.
Why so dismissive about aerial shells and erupting volcanoes of colored sparks and flames? I suppose that at this point in my life I feel as though I've been there and done that. Not that there aren't some surprises left  now and again. The ones that blow up into the shape of smiley faces or cubes are a nice addition, but they are still working with the same basic palette. Maybe that's why the folks in charge of the Golden Gate display hauled out a bunch of lasers to spice up the mix just a little.
And that was cool, but from where we were it looked a little like someone shining a flashlight up into the prevailing clouds of smoke. I do sound a little jaded, don't I? But I have stared up into the night sky enough to become familiar with the patterns and colors. There is something that keeps it fresh to me, however: The explosions. This wasn't an option for us along the shore that night, but on those occasions when we can get up close enough to hear the bang and feel the concussion, then it's all new again. As a little kid, my son loved fireworks, but hated the boom. If we were half a mile away or more, he was happy. Any closer, and my wife and I would take turns holding our hands over his ears as we all winced in anticipation of the next barrage. Maybe that's why he suggested, before we found our spot on the shore, that maybe the best way to take in the spectacle would be on YouTube. Or maybe I can just close my eyes and remember all those fireworks shows I've seen over the past fifty years.