Tomorrow is the day there will be no fireworks. That's how I have thought of it since I came here. Because of the intensely flammable nature of the place, fireworks of all kinds are forbidden. A few people defy the law with a bottle rocket or two. Fortunately they have yet to start the terminal conflagration which will someday consume the town. The guy who lived in the place over my back fence used to get a box of fireworks in Oroville, where they are legal, and set them off every year. He moved out a few months ago, so I won't be hearing the bangs and whistles and sputters of sparks this year. If the wind is right, I will hear the very distant boom of explosions from the large shows in Oroville and Chico. It always makes me nostalgic for Los Angeles, where the haze and smell of powder hangs in the air most of the night.
I recall that, when I was growing up, one of the largest fireworks companies was called Red Devil. They had stands all over town. Their logo was, of course, a horned and pointy-tailed Satan wielding a pitchfork. It never struck me as odd that the Prince of Darkness (pre-Ozzy) would carry a farmer's implement. Neither did it seem strange, until many years later, that, in this nation where I was repeatedly told in school that God was on our side, the principle patriotic holiday should blossom with images of His nemesis. In the back of my mind, though, this incongruity was most likely contributing to that sense I eventually developed that the human world is surpassingly weird.
But, I maunder. This is what my mind does, when my brain settles down for a summer nap. I think I'll go outdoors for a while, to see if the fresh air, hot though it is, will clear my head. Months of this yet to come! It's enough to make the tongue loll!