The day after the day after

was, as Dave noted when he sent me this photo, rather impressive in its own right. Parts of the ash pile were still glowing hot.



As I trust is obvious, the show and the party are a great deal of work for me--and for a lot of other folks. It's also expensive: my share of the fireworks plus various party foods (e.g., hot dogs and hamburgers for a hundred people) and supplies runs about $1.5K. Many folks who are aware of these facts have asked me why I keep doing it.

The short and easy answer is that it's awesome and it's clearly worth what it costs me.

The longer version sounds dopey, but I'll tell you anyway: it touches my heart profoundly and in many ways at once.

I scream with primal release during some of the rounds. I smile and laugh with joy during others.

My world reduces to the glorious, exploding sky.

I paint the sky and my art--the art of all of us in the field--blazes and shrieks and stuns dozens and dozens of friends.

Time compresses amazingly; forty minutes in the real world feels like ten when you're out there under the fireworks.

The danger rush is always present at a cellular level; even though your brain knows you're doing everything safely, your body is convinced you're at severe risk.

I could stand under those shooting stars all night long.