When I was 16-turning-17 I flew from Miami to London on July 4 for a summer study program. All along the east coast, before banking out over and through the dark of the North Atlantic, save for the stars, fireworks went off below. At 30,000 and then some feet up, all you heard was the din of the engines. The very biggest and strongest commercial-grade fireworks can fly up to over 1000 feet into the air, echoing a massive, concussive crack-boom-fizz. I imagined the people below on a hot summer’s night, riveted to the sights above, yet unaware of the surely countless planes crisscrossing their celebration. I watched the colors and the reflection against the black night sky. I could tell when we flew over a particularly large city, or one entering the grand finale of the show. Insulated, I pictured kids with their hands covering their ears from the noise, while their parents cried, “Look!” Above us, surely, by thousands and millions of miles, flew comets, planets, and even whole galaxies. Elsewhere maybe the energy of the sun struck the Earth’s atmosphere and created the most vibrant dancing colors you’d ever be so fortunate to see. Over darker land, someone below spies the glowing speck of the airplane and wonders where those people are traveling to, and why. We are ever drawn to the light.
caroline ridgway 