I went back home tonight to watch the fireworks in the town I went to high school. Sure it was just a 16 mile drive, but it was a much farther journey for me.
I have not watched fireworks at home on The Shortline for 20 years. Since then I have traveled all over North America and have seen some of the finest displays in the country. It's funny, I remember the towns, places like NY and Disneyworld that are known for great displays, but they really are not memorable by comparison. The past year I have made an effort to get back in touch with my friends and family that inhabit the tiny communities that I felt I had out grown, and yes I say that with an amount of shame and quiver in my voice.
I'm sitting here in the same house I have spent the last 15 years and yet for the first time in a long time I feel like I am at home. I spent the early evening hours having my shirt tale pulled by small hands sticky with cotton candy while I talked to parents I grew up with. It's amazing to walk through a crowd of hundreds and know everyone at least by their last name. We picked out a spot in the grass and laid a blanket out as the night wet the grass with a comfortable coolness. I expected to see the modest fireworks display provided by our volunteer fire department, and maybe that's just what it was, but to me it was the most amazing I had ever seen. There are no city lights, no need to look at a cell phone because there is no signal, and no need to keep your hands on anything for fear of being stolen. The sky was perfect. No clouds and so clear that I would have been happy to just spend the night looking at the stars. As the pyrotechnics lit up the sky and then faded they just seemed to be in envy of the sky, themselves. We must have laid there in he grass for 10 minutes just talking about how impressive it was.
It's good to be home.
