Watching last night instead of photographing, I did not try, and sure enough got no decent fireworks pics, but no matter. And seemed like fewer boats gathered expectantly on the Bay than the hundreds last year. And the show started at nine o’clock and ran twenty minutes instead of the thirty I recalled probably mistaken. And the sign that the grand finale was starting was rockets going off on the barge and lifting three or four feet off its deck to burst instead of rising into the sky. And not as many beer-soaked boat captains racing by after.
Cherished Fourth of July memories, 1947 on The Mall in WashingtonDC, watching five-star fleet admirals, war heroes, arrive in Packard limousines. Apalachicola years, driving down to Battery Park in my old green Ford F100 pickup with Nicholas, and sitting there with him. “Wow! look at that one, Granddaddy!!”
Happy still, or again, I can’t get my years back. But unlike the osprey who just flew by my porch with a mullet, life by instinct, circle, dive, clutch, circle, dive, clutch, circle, human life is not cycle or fantasy but Memories, The Instant, Love, Hope. And Memories.
One of these mornings I’m gonna reach out, snatch that osprey's mullet, and fry it for breakfast.
DThos+ in +Time+