On bikes, we sailed past the footed caravan of quilts and igloos into Zilker park, where the symphony began playing William Tell overture. Chas clapped, mimicking the shiny brass cymbals on stage before him. When it began to rain, a crowd of families followed us under the Riverside bridge, and as we waited for the lighting to pass, floodlights illuminated wet spiderwebs along the handrails and the smoke from the cannon drifted through drizzle. A religious fanatic brayed like a jackass through a megaphone, but we escaped that, too, once the thunder abated: across the meadow we found the perfect place for firework-watching, and I stood grinning and wet in the rain as I watched Ford and Chas gape at the spectacular display. And when it was over, Ford was left completely devastated, sunken and slouching in disbelief. How could it ever end?! How dare they?! HIs reaction was so cute I could hardly stand it.
What a great description, especially the braying jackass. (=
I always remember being sorely disappointed at the finale ~ there’s something really wonderful about sparkles in the sky.
I always feel similarly when the fireworks end.
I STILL feel that way when the fireworks end.
I agree…how COULD the fireworks end?! Why can we not have a perennial display of them in the nighttime sky? It would do wonders for people’s moods. 🙂