Around 9:30 on the evening of July 4th, my attention was distracted from my reading by the noise of the fireworks outside. Impulsively, I wondered out to the yard to sit on the swing.
I caught a glimpse of the fireworks occasionally, but most of them were obscured by houses and trees. I sat there in the strangely peaceful darkness listening to explosions from all directions and started thinking.
In most situations, being surrounded by explosions would be terrifying. It would mean war and death and hiding and all sorts of unpleasant things.
But I wasn’t afraid at all. Because in my experience, explosions mean celebrations and beauty and family and all sorts of pleasant things.
What a wonderful way to live.