The sparks came as a phoenix-flower in the night. How its petals leapt and died, only to leap again! Perhaps its summer season was only a minute or so, but in our memories it was a sweet eternity. Then, one more it was blackest night, for such things aren’t born to last. Once it was gone I savoured the gunpowder scent and the kiss of coolest November air, until my goosebumps skin let me know it was time to seek the warmth of home.
From nature's wood sprung the sparks, dancing embers of energetic flame - those tiny firefly-lights that danced until they were an enchanting grey.
Sparks came of orange-gold, dancing in their carefree way, before taking their bow as they became her cinders.
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