Fourth of July Wishes
Here's to family, friends, and hotdogs on the barbecue.
We woke up this morning to a heavy fog layer that had rolled in from the coast overnight. It was cool enough that we could take Ruby for a full walk without risk of her overheating. The neighborhood was oddly still. No signs of the fireworks that had echoed across the valley last night, making it sound as if the Colonial Army had risen from the dead to fight the Redcoats once again.
Slowly, the fog evaporated, leaving behind a dingy haze. As we stepped out onto the back patio, a pair of hawks screeched. We watched them plunge together toward the tree line. A third hawk wheeled around them. Together the trio rode the air currents in lazy circles. A crow squawked in protest at their intrusion. But then, crows always seem to be squawking in protest.
I glanced out over the valley floor in time to see four tightly grouped shadows sail over the rooftops.
“They’re flying in formation!” I told Dale. Four older planes, maybe Spitfires, were rumbling by overhead. Two broke off and circled back to Santa Paula Airport. Two others looked to be headed back to Camarillo, but another broke off and waited its turn to land. The fourth one we kept losing against the haze.
Ruby flopped onto her side to bathe in the sun. Hummingbirds buzz-bombed us. We sat outside until Helios began to cook us.
This is the part of the holiday we enjoy — the quieter moments before the entire valley erupts in ersatz cannon fire.
Now, as I write this, another bottle of wine is being opened. Soon, I’ll make deviled eggs and Dale will fire up the grill. His mom and her dog will join us, and we’ll probably have to serve the furbabies calming doses of doggy CBD. It will be a low-key celebration — of the people and community we love, of happier times, of daring to hope and dream.
Here’s wishing you the same.
Deb, Dale, and Ruby