Fireworks remind me of a little boy, scared by the noise of the shiny blasts. They remind me of my father’s comforting hand holding mine, his happy smile and the thousand colored stars reflecting in his eyes. A gift for him, as he used to say, since the yearly spectacle matched with his birthday.
Somehow, they remind me of my roots in a more deep and tender way than all the images, tastes and sounds of my childhood. This is why, each time the show recurs it’s always a very special moment to me.
Unexpected, they came back a few nights ago and my camera was at hand. I’d like to share with you these few pics taken from my balcony… By the way, do you mind if I take your hand?
Much love, HC
aliensoulmates 
Oh my, HC… Your last comment totally undid me. What a beautiful picture of you and your dad. THOSE are the treasures we should hold onto the tightest. Loved this…
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Thank you Calen 😘
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You did beautiful photos! And no wonder why you remember to hold your papa’ hand in our city fireworks are really strong and loud… beautiful memories thanks for sharing 🙂
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Maybe you remember the fireworks fired from a boat in the gulf of Naples on September 12th for Santa Maria, that we used to call “fuochi a mare”? That’s what I was referring to… 😊
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Oh yes I remember… 🙂
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