Scribbling with Light

I didn't take my camera with me to the firework display, otherwise I'd post a pic.

Maybe that's just as well. Others more skilled than me will be showing images of dark skies lit up by chrysanthemums of fire ... pictures which say everything but nothing about what it was like to be there at the time: a shower of silver that was both a tree and a waterfall; a cluster of sparks scurrying across the sky, squealing like aliens; the warmth of the mug of mulled wine and the closeness of friends. And above all the experience of what is essentially a performance in time, which has everything to tell us about the importance of pacing and of building to a climax: the anticipation after each lull of a bigger and louder display, until the conclusion which fills the sky and makes you feel as if you are being hammered into the ground with sound.

How disappointing it would be if it wasn't like that.