4 July 1984

Thirty years ago, on the 4th of July, I sat in my apartment in the hills of Boulder, Colorado, watching the fireworks at eye level and below. The nights are cool during Colorado summers, too cool for insects to be active, and so, I could open the window for the first time in my life and enjoy the cool, dry, night air.  It was a summer of expectations: the summer of the Los Angeles Olympics, the summer of Prince’s Purple Rain. And it was the summer for photography.

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