I​ have never been a fireworks enthusiast. In the 80s, I lived in Cambridge near the Charles River, the perfect place to watch the annual Boston Pops Fireworks Spectacular. People swarmed from all over to sit along the river. Public transportation choked. Traffic gridlocked. I lived about a mile away. My office was on the river. It was an easy walk from my apartment, yet I always found an excuse to stay away. One year I wallpapered my bedroom, not very patriotic. I confess: fireworks make me jumpy, like a skittish dog in the days leading up to July 4th. By sunset on Independence Day, I understand our canine friends hiding under the bed. Fireworks are loud, toxic, unpredictable and dangerous.

A couple of years ago, Johna and I were at the beach in Manistee before the 4th with my nephews. There were fireworks in the distance. Those fireworks became the background of some stunning portraits of the boys. Bursts of light were unexpected and fit the summer beach theme. The images were amazing, and the boys had fun interacting with the intermittent explosions, so I thought they were kind of fun. See me trying to justify enjoying the dangerous, toxic, loud showers of light? A closed mind can be confusing, especially if it is our own.

So this year, when my sister planned our visit to the same beach for the official fireworks, I didn’t resist much. I packed snacks, a blanket and a backup charger for my phone and climbed into the car headed to the beach. We found a great place on a dune with an unobstructed view of the pier where the fireworks would launch. It didn’t occur to me that the light would reflect off the waves rolling up on the beach. Nor did it occur to me that the strobing green light of the lighthouse would sometimes be in the picture. The crowd below us on the beach created texture, a foreground for the explosion, the main event of each image. None of these things were planned.

When the fireworks started, I played around with the angle and the frame until l found a perspective I liked. After that, every time I heard/felt the boom in my chest as the rocket exploded, my senses piqued. My lens followed the trail of light up up up as I waited for the perfect moment to take the shot. If I missed it, there would be another. And another. It was fun. In time, the loud noise created a Pavlovian response, one of anticipation. I was having a blast. I was focusing on aspects of something that otherwise frightened me. I was getting to know it. That confusing closed mind? It is rewarding when it opens a bit.

These were no longer toxic, violent explosions; they were promises of opportunity to capture something fleeting, absolutely unique and beautiful.

WHAT FUN!