independence day

what moves so within us when we see fireworks? what is inherently American and draws us, speechless, into their harsh sulfuric glare?
the girl at the coffeshop vehemently defended her disgust of Independence Day pyrotechnics, citing their damage to the ozone layer, among other things.
the street in front of the house was smeared with sinister-looking lines of black burns and white ash, remnants of the wiz-bang display of the night before.
huge explosions, debris raining from the sky, ash and soot, billowing smoke, why does it enchant us? our fireballs would stop traffic, literally, as there was no way to circumnavigate the fiery street, and one man stopped to remark on that particular display as the best he’d seen all night. after another, there was rapt silence, before a few of our audience issued low whistles, or approving claps, and utterances of great pleasure.
is it because the fireworks out-alpha us, the dominant humans? do we see the divine in the capture and manipulation of fire, a promethean urge to look skyward and laugh at our cunning?