Later this week, fireworks overhead in Custer Park fill the black night with an illumination of bright hues. Spirals of red-pink flowers pulverize the heavens. Green-blue-yellow zigzagging arcs of light explode above our heads. Bombs burst around our twosome and the violent sounds echo for miles. Fountains of floral colors paint the darkness, and mushroom-shaped clouds cover the festive night, visually intoxicating all of Stockton County in attendance. Boom after boom explodes above us to rock the earth beneath our jean-covered bottoms. The ricocheting sounds cause it to feel as if it is the beginning stages of Armageddon.
As more flashes of sizzling light decorate the onyx-colored sky, I snuggle against Brooks, place my head on his shoulder, and wrap an arm around his middle to comfort h
