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The moon’s a golden egg.

The moon emerges like a night sun out of cloud bands.

Au fond, I’ve always come to the beach more for the sky than the water – the sunrises, the moonrises. (Au fond each summit is a cul-de-sac, as one of James Merrill’s most adorable lines has it.)

Tomorrow night’s the big Rehoboth fireworks display on the beach just outside our apartment; tonight was a smaller show at neighboring Dewey Beach, along with, more spectacularly, a string of small red and yellow explosions all along the Jersey shore, easily visible from our balcony. It reminded me of one July Fourth evening in upstate New York, when suddenly pyrotechnics emerged between two distant Catskill peaks.

Why do these silent far-off displays move me more than big crackling in your face shows? They seem a natural event, the earth itself celebrating the country; and their miniature gaiety has a modesty far more attractive to me than the bombast of the bomb blasts.

Margaret Soltan, July 4, 2015 10:58PM
Posted in: snapshots from rehoboth

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