Independence Day

Being part of an Army family,
the Fourth of July often meant parades.

But that isn’t the memory that stayed with me.

Of all the places we lived,
and all the fireworks displays we saw,
my favorite Fourth of July
was in Greenville, Maine.

It was drizzling.
A little cold.
Not the kind of weather you would expect
for a night like that.

My dad took me to an overlook
above Moosehead Lake.

We sat there listening
to the Boston Pops concert
and watching the fireworks
burst over the water.

I still remember the reflections
stretching across the lake
with every flash of light.

It wasn’t crowded.
It wasn’t loud in the way you might expect.
It was just the two of us,
watching it all unfold.

Of all the celebrations I’ve seen,
that is the one I remember most.

Not because it was the biggest,
but because it was shared.

Some moments do not need to be loud
to stay with us.
Sometimes the quiet ones
are the ones that last.