Fireworks in the Fog
Twenty odd Stanford medical students squeeze into a Cal Trans packed with other ‘peninsulares’ who are heading up to the city for the 4th. There’s a long train ride with card games and gossip. A subsequent adventure of muni and shuttles to get to the waterfront and then a safari through the crowds in the chilly late afternoon. A slice of grass is claimed by blankets, search parties are sent out and return with pizza and beer. More cards games as the fog rolls in from the west and forms a high ceiling that stretches out to Alcatraz.
Fireworks go off after dark. Half of them fly too high–when they explode, staining the fog brilliant but diffuse hues. Sometimes the glowing bits and flairs fall out of the fog, leaving the audience to imagine the full effect.
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Others found the fireworks underwhelming, the cold weather unhospitable. Having grown up on the peninsula, the whole day reminded me, wonderfully, that I was home.
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