Last night we played with sparklers and dreamed of summer. It’s funny how smells bring you back to places, how the smell of a sparkler burning on a windy February night can take you to the 4th of Julys of your childhood. The smell of a zippo takes me back to roasting marshmallows over oil lamps in a friend’s barn over 15 years ago. The smell of Spring brings a rush of green things, long nights, muddy shoes, the feeling of endless possibilities.
The sparklers were left over from our wedding, and I thought it was about time to send them off with dignity. We lit them one after the other, lighting each off the burning spark of the last because the wind was too bad to use the lighter. We spelled out our names, we admired the genius of so small a thing that could light up the dark with a little spark of joy.
