A BREAK (mostly) from fireworks Armageddon (Shutterstock).

I don’t know if this qualifies as a miracle, exactly. But it definitely can be in the categories of the unexplainable and the unexpected.

One of the major gripes for years has been the annual catastrophe (and cacophony) of noisy, illegal and dangerous fireworks in the first week of July.

For as long as I can remember, Orange County – and especially my home of Garden Grove – has been Ground Zero of unlawful pyrotechnics, the bane of military veterans, canines and anybody who prizes a normal night’s sleep and their shake shingle roof.

Typically from July 1-5 our world became a war zone, without law or success at cracking down on the lawbreakers.

The first hint of a cease-fire came last Wednesday (July 1). Except for a few mild pops, no explosions were detected.

The same thing on Thursday (July 2). How odd, we thought. The dog slept like a log. Friday (July 3). A few more ‘pows” but nothing to rattle the windows.

I remember saying, “I can live with just one night of fireworks. I mean, it is the Fourth of July tomorrow.” And that’s what happened. Whatever restraint had been employed was cast off on Saturday (the Fourth) and poor Shadow was trying to hide behind the commode.

But … by the very next day, peace had re-descended.

Now, I know that this “parting of the Red Sea” may not have been your experience, but for me/us it was four/fifths of winning the lottery.

I don’t know what did it. The $1000 fines? The prospect of airborne drones finding you out? The “social host” ordinances that will blame you if your tipsy uncle set off a bottle rocket while your back was turned?

But let’s see more of these kind of surprises. Maybe we need to send up a thank you to St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost car keys and lost causes.