363 days alone – tall and proud against an unadorned sky; defiant despite the world that has left me behind.
363 days I bear their neglect. Because for two days a year, I am the center of the universe. People drive for miles, even cross state lines in their pilgrimages to me, filling their shopping carts with jewelry for the night sky.
With colors from my palette, they remake the heavens for a fleeting moment. Whistles, cracks, pops and booms—sprawling reds and whites and blues—pale yellow trails, cascading twinkles rupture the black.