These beautiful blossoms were on a tree we passed on our walk this morning (identification, anyone??) - a sunny, quiet, 4th of July morning. By now we're under the full assault of fireworks: Los Angeles on the 4th turns out to be a quite dreadful place for someone as terrified of banging pyrotechnics as I am. In defense, I'll say (a) at my very first fireworks party, when I was three and three quarters - or maybe it was a year later - a mis-directed rocket landed in the very box that all the fireworks were being kept, and it was lucky that no one was hurt in the explosion … (b) that, of course, being Britain, was on November 5th (gunpowder, treason and plot, etc.) when everything's so dank it's unlikely to catch fire. But here we're surrounded by the combustibility of Griffith Park (the Junior Golf Academy, just behind us, has its sprinklers on full blast, which seems wise) - at least back in Santa Fe fireworks are (at least officially) banned. I realized that I was expecting Alice to protect me from this because she's American and it's an American holiday … but I'd failed to take on board that her lack of enthusiasm for bangs and flashes rivals my own ...
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