After all the cleaning, all the cooking, all the chaos: it was a really good Fourth of July. fleurdelis28 wrote me afterward that I looked happier than she had seen me in a long time—I couldn't think of anything to write back except that I like being happy, because it's true. The strawberry ice cream came out the best in years. schreibergasse brought sparklers and sharhaun brought moscato which he filled with crushed strawberries and blueberries and made sure we knew it wasn't sangría. gaudior and B. did not stay for 1776 (1972), but then neither did anyone else after the first third, because dinner was happening. derspatchel took a picture of me which I do not hate. My brother grilled all the things.

There was an electrical storm leading up to the fireworks (cloud-to-cloud lightning, that hot white-violet chain-linking its way across the night overcast) and a cloudburst in the middle. I held on to someone I loved and stared into the sky, soaked to the skin and seeing colors. We walked home singing Kate Bush (by way of the Ukulele Orchestra) and Kipling.

And my poem currently titled "Danger UXO" has been accepted by Not One of Us. So there's that as well.