Enchanted

Yesterday, I tried to approach Independence Day without weariness. Nobody says it, but I know it’s gauche to be patriotic among my social circles. The accepted attitude among progressives in my age bracket is a cynical regard for country and a jaded global perspective accompanied by some fatalist notions.

I watched the puff-pop, fizzle-drip, sparkle-drift of Cleveland’s firework display from a vantage west of the Cuyahoga, through telephone wires and above a freeway bridge.

I refused to fret over fireworks’ symbolism as wartime rockets red glare. I didn’t reflect on the current unsound war. I tuned out the auditory violence of explosions. I simply opened my eyes and took it in—enchanted.