The 4th of July
The rocket's red glare ... the bombs bursting in air.The bottle rockets down at the park ... the Roman candles popping ... The firecrackers staccato ... the blockbusters a-booming ... The echoes of them all resounding ...
The dogs whimpering ... pacing ... seeking comfort ... hiding behind the furniture to no avail ...
The cats fascinated by the playthings in the sky they cannot get to ... The celebration outside is a cacophonous display. There is an occasional interruption of the pyrotechnics, stilled by the sirens of the local men in blue, there white cruisers adorned with red and blue lights a-flashing. Those responsible have for a while melded into the shadows unbathed in street lights.
The dogs have calmed down, they are at peace. It is the cats who are upset now, the shrill of the sirens hurting their all so sensitive ears. It is early, there is a lot evening left. The rockets, Roman candles, firecrackers and blockbusters will begin their symphony of din again.
Then the cycle will begin anew. Several times during the night, the dogs and cats will each go through calm and terror and back again. You feel sorry for them, but you are going through stress yourself. You are clock watching, hoping soon the celebration will end.
(Yes, it is a week before the 4th, but a few knuckleheads apparently thought they would get a head start tonight. They were shooting off their fireworks for over two hours. Chances are that we will have a few more nights of this until Tuesday.)