Memoir: The 4th of July

The lights burst overhead like astral explosions. I sat on the blanket, crowded for space here and there, wondering if this was what it was like in those other dimensions, bursts of colored lights exploding all around one.
Somehow in my metaphysical study I had come to that notion. That fireworks on the 4th of July and gemstones and their colors reminders of energies that inhabited some of those more refined dimensions and that that was why we were all so drawn to the firework display each year.
The water from the bay lapped gently in the background as another volley of lights streaked through the sky. Pops and bangs preceded the glorious explosions overhead, mirrored in the bay beneath.
I pulled my sweatshirt closer, wrapped an arm around each small boy sharing the blanket with me, catching a whiff of pot smoke drifting by as someone tried to enhance the already glorious experience.
Eyes skyward, I felt so enamored with each explosion of color, each renewed awakening of my senses, I could only stare. The boys hooted and howled, readying themselves for the grand finale.
It came. Huge volumes of lights and colors zig-zagged and soared, firing up land and bay water alike, and all the expectant faces turned upward.
An assault on the senses, perhaps, but also a climax of sight and sound to carry us through the year again while memories of those vital lights sustained us. Jyoti