I had hoped I might share with you today some pictures of the very elaborate and well-planned fireworks we have in my town, Norwich, Connecticut, at the mouth of the harbor in the confluence of the Yantic and Shetucket Rivers which produces the Thames River.
Some years, leaders in the city have estimated 50,000 people swarm to the banks of the rivers to watch it all happen. And what a great time they have.
This year, we didn't quite have the rocket's red glare or the bombs bursting in air as rainy weather, pushed by Arthur to our south, postponed the festivities. With any luck at all, we'll have them on Saturday and it'll be a terrific time.
This is what I had just out my backdoor half-way through yesterday afternoon.
Understanding of course that I had the freedom to take a photo, or not take one, is a critically understated aspect of the Independence Day observances.
Being whom we want is something we take for granted as much as the air that we breathe and don't wonder about it until we can't draw our next breath. I get the fireworks-Independence Day is a lot of big things-but more than that, it's a myriad of small things.