The fourth door

I am uncomfortable with fireworks. It is not the fireworks itself that I dislike but the people with no discipline who set it on fire who do not respect the where and when. Fireworks brings me back to my war years of having a bazooka in front of our main house door, siren sounds in the middle of the night, guns on the chair, hand grenade in a child small hands, bags of clothes next to the bed, dead body flouting on the red blooded river and the heart pain of worrying about my first father and big brother the day after of the siren. Today is the Orthodox new year and here in St. Moritz Russians celebrate it well. 22.00 hours in the middle of the frozen lake they set the fireworks. Knowing that it is done from one place and in an open space in which no one will be harmed I put on my moon boots, jacket, hat and gloves to go out and let the memories of fright tickle my dna.