Tonight I took the truck up through all of the dark country roads to park and listen to the engine tick in total silence on the crest of The Hill. All below, lights began to dwindle off and die into darkness and nothing but the stars blazed over the quiet. I stood in the bed, freezing in my inappropriate choice of clothing, letting the breeze slither over exposed pieces of my body. And then the sky exploded. The first tiny firework snaked its way between stars and moon and leaped full flame into the night. The sparks of light set everything ablaze, the blasting scream of the dying soul of the light taking the breath from me. It's strange how it happens, how standing there in total solitude while the percussion of the blasts roar off of the mountains beyond me that the tears start to fall. It's like each blast is another heart beating close to me, beating inside of me, allowing me for just that moment to feel like everything is in this second, this point in time and it has all become one in the same. All of the loss, of grief and laughter, the times of utter loneliness and despair in this life, this fraction in time, are of one, fleeting moment. That maybe tonight, standing there in the bed of that truck, there is something to hold on to. That maybe, just maybe, we're all going to be okay.