Yes, on fireworks. Because here in the USA, many of us have just celebrated the 4th of July, or Independence Day. (Or as some now propose it be more fittingly called, Interdependence Day.)

As I was watching a fireworks show near New York City last night, I was wondering why I am so taken by them, and why so many other people are, as well. What makes those pops, streaks, shimmers, bangs, sizzles, whistles, all that arcing, spinning, soaring, fluttering, each of those high golds, hyper reds, starry whites so arresting? Is there anything about human life that makes us recognize ourselves in fireworks?

As I let myself once again delight in sizing up that uniquely predictable-unpredictable event called “fireworks,” I realized that I myself was being sized up. The measure of my own life was being taken in each firework. Which one best expresses what I have lived and what can yet happen? Is my life, is yours, more like the understated primary-color circle that blows gently outward and fades gracefully, or more like the crackly yellow-whirling wildfish that, after seeming to fade, reburst into surprising rainbows of aircake?

Is there something about fireworks that calls to us about ourselves? Watching a fireworks show is like seeing in fast-forward so many ways of having existence go. There goes one lovely configuration, and here is a stunning one, there whimsical, here a confusing riot, there elegant, and the occasional tragedy, the “dud.” Are fireworks a rehearsal and display of some truth about the flash of our existence?

Some communal rituals have found fireworks friendly elaborations of their purpose. For example, rock shows sometimes

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