fireworks

there is a thin bridge, at the base of the hill, you must cross in single file. the slope where you bring your sledge in the snow is muddy under the lights from the Scout Hut. green is brighter, and the earth is darker. a man in a cowboy hat has brought his baby on his back. all the women from the daytime, from the schoolyard, and their men,and the children, and  teenagers, and the 'how is uni treating you?'s, are there. they light the bonfire. at first, it is the smoke: the pot which cleans the brushes, is knocked over in the ink. then the burst of life. madness, tiny orange souls, freed and flying, conversations, interactions, laughing on escape. murmuring, shouts, boys skidding down the bank and couples with umbrellas, close, leaning in. fuse. breath.
the lines of gold in a black shirt i bought twenty years ago.
sequins. fancy dress. silver jubilee.
gold tassels, a plastic fan, gaudy, black, shiny, a present from a holiday.

we leave the glitter in the trees, and walk back down, there are kids splashing through the brook, and then the mums and dads join in, we are all laughing up the lane. a single firework goes off. look.