A firecracker rockets heavenward atop a sparkling trail of light. Faster, faster, faster until finally slower, then slower, then slower. All but stopped cold in the equilibrious pause known by the firecracker and so few others, a decision waits.
From that decisive moment to a time when all sight, sound and the spent-up firecracker itself are forgotton, only an instant passes. So the firecracker--everything it is made of and all it should believe itself to be--takes everything that is packed within it and bursts wildly for, and in, that solitary moment.
No firecracker believes it lasts forever. Yet not one finds that moment too short a time to shine. Only utterly damaged firecrackers forfeit their moment.
Oh, to be so well constructed. Or, perhaps, to so clearly see the design.
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