At the Stroke of Midnight

First things first.


Now, for the rest of the post. This is a short piece about the ongoing celebrations.

Out on the terrace, the view was spectacular. The vault of stars twinkled down from a cloudless sky, untouched by the little lights of the city that threatened to dim their presence. The cold night air pierced through every cloth, severely limiting the number of revellers on the streets. Midnight was mere seconds away. Excitement was rising to a fever pitch Рthe yells were becoming consistently louder and shriller. A countdown chant began, terminating in the explosion of firecrackers. Shouts of uncontrolled jubilation rent the usual silence of the hour. A cacophony of notifications cut through the celebrations Рcalls, messages and pings that brought a smile on an already overjoyed face.

The moment had arrived and the clock had moved on, but not the people. Rockets that burst billowed outward, illuminating the sky with transient sparks of every colour imaginable. They left behind a trail of smoke and dust that remained suspended in the air, forming a thick cloud and blotting out the stars on the horizon. The sickly smell of burnt flash powder could not be dissipated by the feeble attempts of the winter breeze. The merrymaking continued, unaffected, but nature suffered, polluted.

How did you ring in the new year? Have any thoughts to share? You’re welcome to leave a comment.

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