Golden sparks from the hissing crackling fire fly skyward. Wishes not granted, dreams not caught; memories of forlorn times; be gone.
I craved a life which was one step distant. Sometimes reaching out to grasp a taunting hand. Almost, nearly, but ever inches away.
Start again. Begin anew. Make plans; achievable plans. Shout to the future, I’m on my way!
Yesterday is now but a pile of crumbling blackened dust. A gust of wind sends it tumbling off into the distant past.
I smile. Good times, here I come!