evening musings...

We do fireworks particularly well here, in Italy, And often. Tonight was no exception. It is the anniversary of the death of Thomas Aquinas who died on 7 March 1274, and in the town where he was born we made sure he was not forgotten. He died about an hour's drive - 70 kilometres - away from here.

This evening I was up in his territory, checking on the security of smaller works in the exhibition, when the last special mass finished and the fireworks began. I joined the crowds in the drizzling rain and watched too as the display reached up beyond the castle walls. It was the first time I have watched fireworks in the rain, and the effect was muted, more subtle, perhaps appropriate on this day.

I have argued the case both for and against firework displays here. In dry midsummer, with fires and no water, it seems absolute madness that we send thousands of euros worth of peril into the air, to come down and ignite what it will. We wouldn't dare burn our rubbish in a controlled setting, but we would allow this risk-taking on such a magnificent scale.

But when a friend deplored the extravagence of such displays (and they are regular all through the year, but particularly in the summer months) I found myself defending the expenditure even in the impoverished area where I live. Each display gives so much pleasure to so many, and is part of what makes this a wonderful community. Where else would you find free festivals, music, feasts, a sagra every few days over the holiday period (sagra = food festival) and firework displays that lift the spirits and allow you to forget about poverty, litter, unemployment? Where else do you find three generations together at the same concert, the same "party"? How else do you say, "It's so good to be alive"?

At the end of the displays there are always three loud, evenly spaced "booms", so you know that there is no more to wait for. You can go back in from the balcony, put the children back into bed, or continue on your evening saunter along the mountainside. How incredibly sensible!

And until those booms echo across the valley, people from all the villages are outside, saying "no, it's too close to be Aquino, it has to be Castrocielo, but down on the Casalina", or "look, there's another across there, it must be at St Vita..." and they never tire of marvelling at the colours, the beauty, the pleasure a little light brings into often difficult lives.

What is it about lights, in any form, that give us joy and hope?