Now I can spend at least the morning (before the predicted afternoon thunderstorm rolls in) hanging out in this very chair reading a book, one of my favorite summer activities. As I sit here now, the river rushes behind me, the sound of wind in the trees. The local cardinal just paused at the feeder. The neighbor's cat is sprawled next to my chair, visiting. And I'm surrounded by a family of titmice, one adult whistling, a flock of young wheezing in the lower branches all around. From the cacophony, they had a very successful nest. Other birds make their presence known: blue jay, goldfinch, robin, song sparrow, catbird, crow, yellowthroat down on the riverbank. 

Last night's rain shines on the glossy leaves of the rhododendron. A lawnmower drones in the distance. The sky brightens even more. I've got a big mug of green tea at hand and a new mystery book ready on my iPad (Steve Hamilton, Misery Bay). And a day ahead of me of complete freedom to do whatever I most enjoy.

To quote a found poem, the words of which were written by a young boy in 1939 and which I've heard Pete Seeger sing: "He will just do nothing at all. He will just sit there in the noonday sun."

Day off: a good book, 

blue sky, birdsong in the trees.

I don't need fireworks.