works from fire

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The echoes slammed against us, waves of sound crashing and crashing and crashing long after the flashes were swallowed by the night.

Boom.  Boom.  Boom.

Shooting stars, smiley faces, willow trees, and all in brilliant reds and blues and greens burned into my eyes only to be wiped clean by the always slower sweeping rumble that had born witness to the bursts of light.

Boom.  Boom.  Boom.

We never tire of these controlled explosions, oohing and aahing while the burning embers dance in the evening breeze and the echoes of their powerful birth crash and rumble.

Boom.  Boom.  Boom.

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