Independence Day Los Angeles to Boston.

As the intense heat of the Los Angeles summer day yielded to the cooling desert night, an orb of prismatic light encircled the sun in front of me far beyond the fingertips of my outstretched arms. This serene bubble melted into a magenta sky before giving way to an effervescent night of pyrotechnics and good cheer. The skies beyond the freeway showcased eruptions of color from every pier and inland park. The boom of explosions lingered in the air until the next bursts of light and just as quickly fizzled to darkness like the sparklers in the hands of the children below.

Thousands of miles away familiar festivities of impromptu Frisbee games, grape fights, laughter, barbeques and Yankee Doodle sing-a-longs filled Boston's shoreline, suppressed only by the oohs and aahs, like orchestrated inhales and exhales, from the boats resting on the Charles and crowds along its banks as the fireworks of the Esplanade punctuated the 1812 and The Pops conceded to the most magnificent tantrum of sound and light displayed over the Harbor. An outburst of applause and nasal pitch boat horns screaming in unison marked the beginning of the battle of the Locks and the end of the Independence Day celebrations.