Just a post-it note to tell you about an experience I had last week:
I was flying home from Houston on the Fourth of July. I changed planes in Atlanta and as we left the runway it was just getting dark. The plane banked hard to the left and then headed toward Richmond and as we climbed into the night sky I looked out the window.
There, erupting from a hundred back yards below, were little showers of sparks—people shooting off firecrackers, bottle rockets, Roman candles, and a few bigger bursts from high-priced pyrotechnics. In the distance I saw what looked like the grand finale of a small-town fireworks display, but everywhere, everywhere, people were celebrating the Fourth of July.
It was wonderful to see it from that perspective. It wasn’t the breathtaking display the rest of my family was seeing at Dogwood Dell in Richmond, but it was a reminder that this freedom we celebrate belongs to every back yard, and everybody, even the little boy waving the sparkler wildly, dangerously, as his sister shrieks and runs away.