where the writers are
Fire Works in Fury

The flowers are blooming tonight. All across the sky I see how the stars shoot up to their distant cousins, never quite making it. I stop my scooter alongside the rice paddies and mosquitoes to watch and then hear how they open and then die in the space of a few seconds. The spectacle continues for over ten minutes. This field of higgledy-piggledy blossoms amazes me every time the sound hits me, some two seconds after the explosions. By my estimate, the show is about two kays away. I saw stars and it didn't hurt to look. I saw a shower of fireworks in the sky last night and with each star I saw that shot up I made a wish until I was drunk with wishes. And now this morning, I have a good hangover as the memory of those little furies stays with me. All I have to do is close my eyes and I'm back there on my scooter, sitting quietly in the dark. Letting mosquitoes do their worst as the beautiful violence of light flashes before my eyes in the distance. I'm glad I'm not a bloodthirsty mosquito. I buzz away on my scooter long after the mosquitoes have tired of my vintage and the sky is quiet again. I smell sulfur all the way home. All the flashing neon lights that line the road on either side show me the way. I guess our lives are full of fireworks everywhere we look because fire works its fury for me and for you now.