Sometimes you find a rare, beautiful gem in an airport. Next time you fly through Chicago O’Hare, I challenge you to find this passageway. The neon flickers in a surreal, technicolor light show.
(It’s been there since I was a kid and I still it!)
Stars and spangles light up the sky,
No wonder kids love the Fourth of July.
A boom, a trail of smoke, and then a loud pop,
As colorful sparkles fan out and drop.
One after another, each twinkles and dies,
Just a moment’s pause, and the next one flies.
Then all too soon comes the grand finale,
Wave after wave, like an electrified tsunami.
And then it’s all over and all is quiet,
There’s a stillness where there once was a riot.
And clouds of sulfurous smoke in the air,
Are all that’s left to show that fireworks were there.
The weather is a fickle thing at this time of year. In spite of the promises of rain, we went. And it’s a good thing we did, because I’d forgotten. Forgotten how all it takes to come alive is to be let loose in the mountains. The intense perfume of evergreen and marshy streams and alpine flowers. The sky that is once blue, then gray. The wind that sculpts ridges, and draws lines in our faces.
It’s an effective illusion when summer seems endless at the beginning of June. You believe it’ll stretch on and on in long and languid days. Oh, but it goes by as quickly as a sunset!
I intended to restore this teak table long ago, before the start of BBQ season. But here it is, July, and I’m only now tackling this Herculean task.
Water, soap, and a brush. With each board, making short work out of long. Fingers stained dark with teak oil.
In the end, the miracle of second chances.