I didn´t get to see the fireworks on the 4th of July. Maybe i didn´t really feel the holiday boiling in my blood.
I guess that´s easy to understand though…
Or maybe it was because as much as I tried to stay on my tiptoes, as tall as I tried to be, the rooftops of the tiny houses in Bristol Commons aka my “neck of the woods”, were obstructing the view.
All I saw were the faint shades of light that splashed the sky ever so vaguely. All I heard were the gunshot echoes.
But I don´t regret that anymore.
This evening, as I was giving my neighbors something to talk about -I was beating my newly found mattress with a broom.
(When I say found, I mean I found it in a furniture dump. Ah, the high class life. And when I say with a broom…well, you know.)
I didn´t have the appropriate carpet beater and I wonder if they have them in America. Maybe on vintage item sales.I for one am very fond of my carpet beating memories…those two times when I made the buildings of my hometown echo and tremble, fearing my carpet beating rage.
But back to the subject. There I was, minding my own business, appalling my new neighbors…when, after seeing one curious shadow disappear from the window cause I was looking in its direction, I spotted, mirage like, my first firefly in so so long.
I thought at first that it was the light reflecting from my neighbor´s window, or maybe some other type of light refraction, reflection, rewhatever.
But then I saw it again, and again, and the evening darker shade of lawn became the perfect background for my very own, private fireworks, blazing up in short little light sequences.
I´m happy, with so little magic.