I Saw the Fireworks

 

When I was a child, I used to get so excited by fireworks.  The light and sparkle and crackle were like a few moments of magic in the mundane world.  Then I moved to the UK, and fireworks became an everyday experience.  They go off throughout November in celebration of Guy Fawkes Day, and I started thinking only about the dangers and difficulties of fireworks.  Fire.  Injuries.  Terrified pets.  Where once I would immediately pay attention when I heard the first pop-pop-pop of them going off, and start scanning the dark sky for colour and light,  I started to ignore the sound.  Or, at best, I would acknowledge it with a roll of my eyes and a sigh.  After all, I could never see the fireworks - what was the point of looking for them?  What would be different about this display than all the others that would make the hunt worth it?

And then came New Year's Eve...the end of 2025.  I was getting ready for bed (way before midnight - I'm no spring chicken) and I heard pop-pop-pop-BANG just outside my window.  It was so loud that I thought something had crashed, so I went to look.  And there, filling my window, was a sphere of glittering red and gold.  It was quickly followed by a flower in shades of green and blue, with white glittering bulbs all around it.  Then silver streamers - purple roses - a streak of white and blue and orange.

Cynicism and frustration disappeared, and once again I was a child, awed by the sparkles raining down all around me.  I sat and watched the whole display, and realized that I really needed to do that more often:  focus not on the danger and difficulty, but the blaze of beauty.

We can't avoid being surrounded by the bang-bang-whizz-pop-crackle-bang that shakes the windows and makes the heartbeat quicken.  But we can certainly remember to take those disturbances as a cue to look up and see the light.