A couple of NYPD cops stopped in their beat to watch the show. They were enraptured; they did not expect colour on a dull winter night. High winds lashed against the trembling lion and caused the banners and flags to snap and stutter. From a distance came the splutter of firecrackers. It was illegal to set them off; the culprit fled quickly. Only the ensuing fragments of exploded red paper, borne in the wind towards the lion dance, betrayed the crime. They swirled madly in the wind, mingled with snowflakes, then fell like bright red confetti on dark hats of the astonished cops. One of the cops took off his hat to dust off the scarlet fragments, pausing to pick one up and sniff at it. What did he smell I wondered? Gunpowder, fire, the lost dream of spring? I saw him tuck the fragment in his pocket: an astronaut pocketing a moon rock.Couldn't resist using this favourite extract from Wena Poon's new collection of short fiction, Lions in Winter* as my blog's Chinese New Year card to you all.
Wish you a safe journey back home and a very happy festival with plenty of good things to eat.
And lots of good luck and prosperity for the Year of the Rat.
*Review follows shortly, promise.
Photo by Rosathorn on Flickr.