They took the bottle rocket to the top of the hill, the child and the man. Their hearts leaped and howled at the marvel of the thought — their homemade fuselage harpooning the moon and stars, bursting the summer night to life. Fire ate the fuse to the brink of launch when the man charged across the grass, tackled the toy, and exploded in a carnival of jewels, each the size of the child’s front tooth. The jewels were heavier than the child anticipated, warmer, and it was hard to skip home with every pocket full.



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