Fireworks

Although they are romantic. They are also sad. They happen every year. Reliable, yet achingly emotional. It makes you want a kiss. It makes you want to tromp around in a creek. It makes you remember all the years past & what you were doing. The fourth of July compells me to indulge my Huck Finn. Who is very romantic mind you.

I am not saying romantic in the gushy mushy sense. I am saying romantic in the Tom Sawyer sense. Things that take you back to when you were a child. The smallest most favorite thing that you can remember. It's not our country. It's our lives. Yes, the country allows for us to be any way we'd like. But even without the USA, you'd still have that person that makes your heart twinge even 10 yrs later when you think about them. You'd still have hot dogs & ...... hot dogs & fire works & lawn chairs & grass & BEER & watermelon & christmas lights & pistachios & swamp coolers & sprinklers & dogs loose & good music on the radio & people enjoying themselves in your back yard. Well, maybe not. I don't know. But this post isn't about America, god bless it.

It's about fireworks & all the small little types of romance there are. My foot in the grass & my pants rolled up & the caked dirt on my feet chokes me up.