Into the big tote bag went the old plaid beach blanket, bug spray, hand wipes, and the blanket that is on the sofa, in case it got cool, but not a camera. You can't take pictures of fireworks, I didn't need it.
And so this is my picture, of the four of us on the grass in front of the church, sitting on the bluff above the beach, watching the annual firework display. It's an unseasonably cool night, cool enough that I have on jeans and my favorite gray cardigan, the girls are both wearing striped pullovers over their summer play clothes, and Jack is wearing shorts with a navy fleece. We are layered on top of one another, on the beach blanket: Jack and me on the bottom with Kate to my left, her head on my chest in hopes of muffling some of the sound, and Mary to my right, in between us. She is clutching a bag of popcorn that her dad bought from the Lion's Club tent, just across the grass. The blanket they brought, one given to us at our wedding with my name misspelled on the embroidery, is across our feet.
The old tote bag, that has taken us to the beach and back so many times, is now folded behind my head, a pillow as I lay back, and from my vantage point I see all three of them, the people I like best in the world, as an amazing array of fireworks blows up beyond them, over the water.
No need to bring a camera, this is my picture. Enjoy a wonderful Independence Day with those you love, and fireworks.