from the second story porch i leaned and watched and hoped we wouldn't all die from this or anything else, ever. one long moment that lasted an evening in which i felt remarkably fine

this year i wasn't going to surround myself with loud noises. drunken rowdy groups playing with fire. laughing at their almost disasters. but the results of the night brought me to this safe ledge. watching glorious explosions. dangling an expensive glass of wine and my sandals. right over the edge. i even held a sparkler. let it sputter colored lights like christmas trees down and around my arm in the green night of smoke and fire. popping and dancing like bacon grease from a hot pan around my head in slowly disappearing circles.

this desert dance of independence this year among the gravel of the back street among friends and wine and the smell of the slow burn of things just gone out. it's me. this year. that i celebrate.