Ah, the calm after the storm. Nothing like a full moon over Torch, especially after Bombs Bursting in Air. Katherine writes that this is what it looked like after her dog, Maya, had finally dropped off to sleep with the help of “doggie downers.”
Poor Maya has been much distressed by fireworks this week. Miss Sadie can relate. She dives under the bed. The Cowboy gets under the desk and sits on my feet—a welcome little footwarmer in February, but in July, not so much.
July in the Township: Amateur Night at the Fireworks Factory. People seem unaware that what goes up must come down, occasionally setting fire to a neighbor’s roof or to a whole forest. It did not used to be that way Around Here. One night of fireworks was enough. Heck, sparklers were enough. But then, I am so far behind the times that I am about to come ’round to being in vogue again, like hula hoops and platform sandals.