Confession: I am not a huge fan of fireworks. (I'm not even a tiny fan of fireworks.) Perhaps it’s the introvert in me: I am not sure who it was that decided noise=fun. I am more entertained by fireflies.
I do love the names of fireworks: sparklers, rockets, cakes, fountains, candles, whizzlers, poppers, crackers. Words like that make the poet in me kind of giddy.
I also love Katy Perry’s overarching metaphor and the simile “own the night like the Fourth of July” as it appears in her song “Firework.”
The best fireworks I’ve ever seen were at Walt Disney World, right after the Electric Light Parade, the very first time I visited in 1977. Possibly there were factors other than the actual fireworks that make this memory so spectacular. That’s okay. It still counts.
Fireworks come into play in my new novel DON’T FEED THE BOY. That’s because the story takes place during a severe drought. And when there’s a drought, many municipalities will ban Fourth of July fireworks due to the fire hazard. What a disappointment for Whit, the hero of my story! But definitely for the best. (Idon’t think they’ll be having fireworks in Colorado this year. My thoughts and prayers to all those affected.)
If you do enjoy fireworks, I hope you get a sky-full! And if you’re more like me, I wish you lots of blinky fireflies.