Somebody is setting off fireworks on the street level just a few blocks from my apartment. I thought the sound was thunder at first, until I looked out the window and saw the sparks and trails of light flashing through the narrow streets. It's beautiful, but almost vertiginous. The ground is not the place for fireworks - it's like glancing out an airplane window to see a pig trotting merrily along through the clouds. Not to mention the deep-seated knowledge of just how dangerous this must be. Most of the surrounding buildings are taller than the fountains of light exploding around them, and I don't envy the residents.
Well. Not much.
The Hanging Gardens
home to boggles and beasties and all things that go bump in the night
- Fireworks before the Fourth. And below it.