This year, since the fireworks are always a disappointment to Darryl, we drove to another town to see if theirs were any better.
To me, none will ever compare to the New Year’s fireworks I saw with a bunch of friends at a ski hill almost 10 years ago. We were next to a run and the fireworks were set off on the other side of it. They played classical music that made the fireworks seem even more spectacular and amazing besides the fact that we were so close. Before the fireworks started, about a hundred skiers came down the hill from the top in a line, all with torches, so it looked like a long line snaking back and forth across the hill and gradually getting bigger. That was really cool.
So now when we park on the side of the road jammed in with as many other cars as can possibly fit down both sides without blocking the road altogether, watching some relatively small bursts of colourful sparks and wondering if each set of big ones is the finale, it just doesn’t do it for me.
But I still like to watch and take pictures.
And listen to the people next to us cheering whenever there’s a big one.
And wondering if they’re drunk.
And hoping this one is the finale so I can go home and sleep.
I don’t mind staying up late once in a while. I have to take all the excitement I can get.