May 23

but when we decided to visit Montreal we made sure we would be there when we could watch the show. As luck or Providence would have it, we were there the night China put on their display. As you might imagine, it was a fantastic thirty minutes of sparks of varied colors flaring up, then fading slowly as they fell into the St. Lawrence Seaway.

Yet what I remember most are not the fireworks, but all of the people gathered in the park, on blankets or folding chairs. There were tattooed bikers, gray-haired grandmothers, energetic teenagers and stroller-sleeping (until the display began) babies. People from all walks of life, dressed in all manner of clothing, sat chatting before the production began, then ooh-ing and ahh-ing in unison as colors burst above them.

I was reminded of the end of one of Flannery O’Connor’s short stories, Revelation: “A visionary light settled in her eyes. She saw the streak as a vast swinging bridge extended upward from the earth through a field of living fire. Upon it a vast horde of souls were rumbling toward heaven.” After the grand finale, Drew and I boarded a subway back to our hotel. The subway car was jammed with that same diversity of human beings. We heard excited voices, in different languages, apparently talking about the fireworks, the competition, their lives. As the subway rumbled on, a vast horde of humanity, all transformed by the vision they had seen, were heading home.