The matches

flickered to life
as they were desperately lit
in the cool, wet air.

Everywhere I looked,
I saw the struggle to keep
the fire alive,
as the match’s flame danced in the
wind.

But they didn't catch.
Didn't light.

The lanterns were a symbol of good luck,
a metaphor to help our team play well,
with the pressure of Nationals.

Suddenly,
some of the lanterns
caught flame.
They filled with air, and lifted into the
night sky.

As I watched,
I let my own lantern go.
It was a furious color orange,
and different from all the rest.
Simply separate from all other.

As the wind grew stronger,
the various colored lanterns
started drifting towards the trees.

The lanterns got tangled in the leaves.

Their thin paper structure
pierced by the sharp twigs.

The flames licked the leaves,
trying to grab hold.
But a layer of summer dew acted as a fireproof cover,
a shield
to keep the forest from igniting.

I heard the silence in the air
as the temptation grew.
No one in the mood
for a forest fire,
caused by a ritual to bring good luck.

But the dew fought back,
a battle between life and death.
Microscopically thin,
yet an impassable barricade.

The flames flickered out,
extinguished by the water and wind.
They disappeared so quickly,
I missed it in exchange for a blink.

Sighs of relief filled the silence
which recently controlled the night
fighting to be felt.

But in the commotion,
in all the chaos,
one furious orange lantern,
separate from all other,
made it past the trap
that was the trees.

My lantern soared higher
until it was another star in the
sky.

And then it was
gone.