The year is half over.

People are shooting off fireworks on this Fourth eve. Such resonant booms on a full moon night. And quicker, higher explosions some distance away. More gunshotty types closer. It’s the Buck Moon, and it’s still  not risen above the firs. It’s also a super moon because of its proximity to earth.

Fireworks, even when they wake us {make that me} at 1 a.m., are so miraculous, arent they? Sometimes I try to squint to the long past at the those first Chineses inventors, the early fireworks manufacturers.  Well, actually according to this great Smithsonian article on the history of fireworks, they came about accidently with overheated bamboo sticks in a fire. Thus an explosion. And who knew that Henry VII had them at his wedding in 1486?

But back to July fourth. Such brilliance was afoot back then in the Colonies, wasn’t there? And a brilliant madness.  Lots of sacrifice, but oh, the optimism. Oh, the beautiful, truly historic dream.

My fellow writers and world citizens out there; it’s been a tumultious few years we’ve just wobbled or limped through. Some of us still don’t feel as balanced as we did five or ten years ago. But alot of us are finding our footing, looking ahead, digging in.

The way I see it, no matter where you live, the planet and future generations need us.

Which brings us back to writing. Because doesn’t digging in mean writing?  Writer friends, how does the writing go?

Because if ever there was a time for telling stories, it is NOW.

And let’s all gaze up at the sky and search for the miraculous, shall we?