Sparklers

From the moment it was lit in your hand, that brief sizzle and the convulsion of stunningly bright shards of fire made you feel magical, made you like some ancient conjurer of fire.  You held fire literally in your hands, waving it around, running with it streaming sparks behind you.

Sparklers barely left any smoke behind, they curled and blackened and collapsed in an ashen heap.  Easy to discard.

But god during those seconds when they hurtled bits of gold into the night, starting with the same amount of energy until they were finally silent, they became the official symbol of summer.  Anybody could hold one, mostly the smaller kids, but sparklers were silent and made no loud noises...they were perfectly quiet and explosive.

In a darkened lawn in an evening beneath barely visible planets and stars, the sparklers leapt and startled in the darkness like meteor showers, briefly shedding sparks and laughter across the grass.  Shining brighter than the fireflies in the trees behind them.

The problem with sparklers is they burnt too bright, too hot for too brief of a time.  They appeared in such dizzying light then disappeared.  The night became immensely darker when the sparkler fizzled out.  Almost disorienting, being guided by the light of the sparks and then absence.  No light.

I think sometimes that you were there, in my hand, emanating such brilliance and heat...cascading light upon me, a bit of flame slowly creeping towards me.

In your absence I feel a bit alone in the darkened grass, my eyes temporarily blinded and now blinking back the blackness.

It is soon to be July 4th.  I think I will think upon your gaze and the explosive resonance that it reflects upon me.