by Kelly at a child is born
Posted July 5, 2007
July 4th's past, my family would drive to the fairgrounds in our upstate NY town, find a parking spot and unload, getting out the blankets and towels and finding a patch of grass on which to perch. The sun had just about said goodnight, leaving behind dusky purple and pink and orange, and in that dying light, hard-shelled June bugs would fly around, thwapping unsuspecting patriotic revelers in the noggin.
It was a coarse kind of beauty, this waiting and wondering amongst creepy-crawlers and discarded cigarette butts, the anticipation of the visual and aural sensation of fireworks, the noise of which would drown out the sounds of us gathered humans, vulgar and ungracious. Read more...
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