I love fireworks.
The noise they make, the sight of them, their smell.
I lean back in my chair, my eyes staring at the sky, in the perfect watching position. Somebody strikes a match, and everyone is silent. Then, with a shriek that makes me jump and raises the hairs on my neck, it whizzes into the air. Two, three, sometimes four at a time, racing each other and spinning across the sky.
I can't help but gasp, every single time, as the streak of light explodes to form a perfect circle of sparks. Every color imaginable is in the air, until the little dots slowly fall towards the ground, eventually disappearing high above my head.
I imagine the various fireworks as mythical creatures. They populate this little world in my head. The jumping swirls of light aren't just another firework, they are fox-like creatures, springing across each other and dancing in the moonlight. The screeching fireworks that zoom upward aren't what they seem. They are fairies, talking to one another and screaming in delight before exploding into a billion tiny fairies.
And I feel like I can join them, if I just run fast enough. Barefoot, light as a feather, I could scamper over the hills and up, up into the air, becoming a streak of light myself.