The Flower of Fire
Natsuko Sato (Arlington High School)
The hot, stuffy air of summer mingled with the distinct smell of tako yaki and yaki soba coming from
the shops, and the music from the bon-odori played softly in the background. I was at the matsuri—the
Japanese traditional festival that was held every summer in my town.

The matsuri was almost over, and I relocated to the hillside to settle down to see the fireworks. Sitting
down amongst hundreds of other people who were also there to see them, I gazed up at the dark starry sky,
feeling my anticipation grow with each passing moment. I was ready for the magic to begin.

Huuuuuuu. Don! Suddenly, with a booming sound, the first of the fireworks was shot into the sky.

The crowd around me clapped and cheered loudly—the wait was finally over. One after another, the
fireworks shot up and burst out stunning streams of lights. The extravaganza culminated in a grand finale as
dozens of fireworks of all different colors, sizes, and designs simultaneously shot up, brightly illuminating
the night sky.

Throughout the entirety of the hanabi show, I was simply awestruck; awestruck at the magnificence of
the scene and the sheer scale of it all that no words could possibly fully articulate my amazement. My eyes
were simply glued to the spectacle unfolding before me and my heart was fully enraptured by those flowers
that bloomed in the cobalt blue sky.

In Japanese, “hana” means flower and “bi” means fire. Loud, extravagant, and admired by hundreds
of people, those flowers of fire are the symbols of Japanese summer. They are what move the Japanese’s
hearts and bring them excitement. Moreover, they represent the skill, artistry, craftsmanship, and hard work
of the hanabi makers themselves. Like flowers, these hanabi beautifully captivate the viewers and create
picturesque scenes in the night sky.

But the Japanese appreciation of hanabi is not solely based on its extravagance and the exhilaration
that it brings. This brings me to my second story:
As much as I loved matsuri and the beautiful hanabi shows during the summertime, they were
obviously not regular occurrences. So instead, I would often beg my grandmother bring me to the
convenience store to buy a pack of house fireworks. And of course, being a typical, grand-child-loving
grandmother, she would happily bring me to the store and buy me a nice pack of miniature hanabi. In the
pack were various types of fun-looking fireworks, from simple handheld ones to more thrilling “rocket”
ones, which came in cute colored wrapping and designs.

Upon returning home, I would anxiously wait for the sun to set. And as soon as it did, I would grab
the hanabi pack, call out to my family to come light them with me, and head outside.

“Don't point the tip of the hanabi at others!” my father warned me every time, “You don't want to light
people on fire.”
“I know,” I always replied, “but they’re just so pretty that I get temped to twirl them around!”
In any case, all of these hanabi sessions at my house concluded with the lighting of the senko
hanabi—the sparklers. They were by far the most simple and frail-looking hanabi in the entire package. I
took a strand of the senko hanabi and held it in my hand, dangling it down vertically to light the end of it
with a candle. As the end quickly shriveled up into a ball of fire, I crouched down and tried to hold my
hand as still as possible. I silently gazed at the ignited ball, which soon began spurting out branches of
delicate sparks that progressed into more powerful and energetic sparks. I was quickly mesmerized by its
beauty, but continued to concentrate on keeping my hand still. But before long, the sparks died down and
the ball of fire quietly burned out.

Unlike those fireworks at the hanabi show, these flowers of fire are quiet, simple, and mainly only
admired by the person holding them. But they are also beautiful in their own way. From them, the Japanese
enjoy the sense of wabi-sabi, the concept of appreciating the ephemerality and imperfections of objects.

The burning out senko hanabi evokes a sense of sadness, but allows the viewer to appreciate its brief but
considerable magnificence. Some even say that the senko hanabi represents human life—frail, ephemeral,
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