bomb's red glare

I've never been much on fireworks, but earlier this week, I went to a fireworks shop in the northern suburbs and bought a handfull of sparkers. We were invited to a friend's holiday celebration. All guests were invited to bring fireworks.

This was my first visit into a fireworks store. They are certainly offering more adventuresome items than the simple firecrackers and bottle rockets that my cousins used to get and fire at my grandparents' house in Bellmead.

Both the person in front of me and behind me had shopping carts full of explosives. I bought my sparklers.

The party was tonight, and it was as much fun to watch the other folk as it was to see the variety of things shot in the backyard and on our friend's driveway.

I think I've always filed fireworks as being the realm of young men and boys, but here was a group of middle-aged men and women who together took delight in setting off things that were possibly a bit too dangerous for my tastes.

The best ones were small versions of public fireworks, reduced to a box or cylander that made their multi-colored explosions within a 3 or 4 foot area on the driveway.

Across the city tonight, one hears the booms and rat-tat-tat of fireworks. I suppose this activity falls under the heading of the pursuit of happiness.