October 10, 1998

Fireworks

Tonight, for a brief few minutes, I watched fireworks at a distance Sitting on my bed on the opposite wall of the room from the window, I looked out. There, further than the tree just outside the glass, across the street, and further than the next building, the fireworks stormed. It was part of the Homecoming celebration.

I heard it all: every pop, bang, whiz, and zippy-poof. Yet I cannot say I saw it all. Yes, there were many giant starbursts that shot way high into they sky, but many hung lower to the ground. I could see their flashes of light against the smoke and haze, but the colors and styles and shapes were well hidden behind the building across the street. Nevertheless, I enjoyed it.

Now, some people say that in every event in life, even the simple act of a seagull dropping a clam on rocks to break it open, you can learn something. If this is true, what is watching these fireworks at a distance missing them occasionally telling me? I fear the answer, for it means I'm living life at a distance.

That is not how to live.