July 4 in Boston

Braving the crowds on the banks of the Charles River, I chaperoned three exchange students to the July 4th fireworks in Boston. They learned about Independence Day in class. But entering the patriotic ambience of red, white and blue gave the feeling. Finding space to sit on the grass took persistence. Blue tarps, tents and flags marked boundaries of prime fireworks-viewing real estate. Folks in kayaks, canoes and motorboats watched from the water. The 104th Fighter Wing units flew over while we were waiting in line for fresh-squeezed lemonade and fried dough. Music of the Boston Pops and Berklee College of Music performers gave a nice sound background for our wait.

Twenty minutes of pyrotechnic combustions began after a short teaser. The skies glowed with the ignition of supposedly twenty thousand pounds of explosives. Smoldering embers fell into the river, extinguished. The wind carried the smoke away, and some glowing fragments fell on some closest to the water's edge.

 

At eye-level, the fireworks looked warlike. The explosions rattled my ears as shells might. Flares lit the darkness, marking space. That's pyrotechnics with a psychological twist.

 

But the fireworks also appeared heavenly. The sparkles created this ethereal dome that enveloped us. Pulses of color gave this release of emotion.

 

Maybe it's a kind of pyro-adrenaline rush. Maybe it's just chemistry.