On the fourth of July, my partner and I started the day, a day for celebrating democracy, ironically at a polo match (the sport of kings). The polo field stretched at our feet while large  white tents with white couches and red and blue striped accents lined up behind us. There were enough summer delicacies to feed any army and drinks to compliment. I settled on chilled white wine to combat the 90 plus degree heat, pasta salad, and a bread with an olive tapendade. Women around me wore large straw hats and glittering red and white striped high heels. Men exchanged golf tips and talked about classic cars. The first chukker began and we were struck by the speed of the horses, the clashes of malets and the overall thrill of witnessing a new sport for the first time.
Later in the day, I watched fireworks travel from their launch on a barge on the Willamette to some point in mid air above my head and explode in colorful illumination. I was in prime position, comfortably wedged within the steel structure of the median on the Hawthorne bridge. It was a warm night with a slight breeze that tousled my hair, dry and disheveled from a day of chlorine and sunshine. My skin, dewy from a playful game of basketball glowed reflections of the sparks. Bicyclists rode by shouting patriotic quips. Fathers had children hoisted on their shoulders. A man near us tried unsuccessfully to hide the fact that he was smoking more than just cigarettes. Two Chinese tourists asked to have their picture taken holding an American flag, with fireworks bursting in the background, genuine smiles plastered on their faces. An through it all I felt an overwhelming sense of freedom and comradery that is so often lost in daily routine. I drew close to my partner and felt completely free and beautiful.