There she was, the pixie: queen of the ceremony, holding the magic stick in her hand. This was her show. Her husband was the magician’s secret helper, showing her the way with his torch. “Fire!” she commanded, and the ceremony began with a bang. A strong explosion found us unprepared. The lightning followed the thunder, lighting up the sky. We backed off.
One after the other they burned. Firecrackers in all sorts of shapes and styles; one went up with a short shriek, the other hitting the sky with a bang, while splitting to shooting stars in different colors. “A shooting star” she called, jumping up and down in the air like an excited child. “A shooting star”, we all called after her, clapping our hands, cheering. “School will prevail!” shouted one of the kids after the schoolhouse firecracker failed to explode.
She saved that one for the end: spinning on the tree trunk, all glitters and sparkles, causing us all to scream with glee: YEA!
Happy Queen Victoria Day!
I realize that victoria is only an excuse. what we are doing is probably remnant of old pagan rituals of welcoming summer back with fire and dancing, if you can call backing away from a firecracker dancing.
Posted by: Golda b. | May 28, 2005 at 08:43 AM
I think that for some people it's an excuse to abandon their (false) adulthood and behave like little (and very excited) children. I find this completely charming.
Posted by: hadas | May 29, 2005 at 09:21 AM