Flames dance merrily bright around the figure at the top of the wooden pyre.  Witches and would be assassins spring back to life in every watching breast, visions of an ancient past that will not die.  The gunpowder plot is reborn and the conspirators gather to salute old gods.  Crackling timbers cast demonic shadows around the observers, waiting impatiently for their moment of ecstasy in the make believe world of powder paradise.

The sudden flare of ignition makes hearts race, the raging, fiery beauty of the rocket trail mirrored in captivated eyes as it rises majestically toward destruction.  The loud explosion leaves them breathless as a starburst of rich red tendrils spreads out, bright enough to briefly mock the glimmering stars of the heavens above.

Haunting in their brief but glorious lives, the pyrotechnics hold them spellbound, magnetising souls.  Hanging heavy, layers of gunpowder smoke fill nostrils, summoning up images of conflict in the blackness of the night.  The seething rafts of colour fill imaginations as the faintly glowing stars of heaven are outnumbered and eclipsed by the riotously scattered brilliant flashes of pure artistry above.

Coughing, gasping, laughing, crying they can’t tear themselves away.  Millions of sparks dance in the air around, trembling in their brief moments of glorious existence.  At every turn, magician’s dressed as ordinary people put flame to paper and the dark night becomes a treasure trove of rainbow hues weaving sparkling spells of light. Hearts jump as explosions shake the very air, yet none flee.

Could the stars themselves be more spectacular than those that now blossom merrily across the sky?  Dancing particles burn with gay abandon, radiating warmth and pleasure in colours that eyes struggle to take in.  This wild, exhilarating  ride of explosive light and sound, the cordite fumes tickling at noses and throats, making them feel more alive than they ever have and praying that it won’t end.

Screams pervade the night air as ever more breathless cascades of gold and emerald shoot up into the expectant air, falling again like stardust above the mesmerized eyes below.  Each rainbow burst more spectacular the one before, a quickening of the blood as this feast of color builds to a crescendo.  The sense of conspiracy grows within heaving breasts and all begin to feel a strange sense of belonging.

The display suddenly ends, painting the skies like some manic artist with incredibly colourful shapes, and bringing gasps of hypnotized delight.  Yet, within seconds, the burning fuel has spent itself and the darkness of the night takes over once again.  All regret the passing of the joyous powder paradise they feel privileged to have visited, but though the fireworks are now nothing more than burnt out shells, the happy memories take much longer to fade.