(Oh, I suppose there could be times when a dust devil or tornedo might give rise to happy feet for air; and maybe a waterspout or big wave could inspire frolics over water, but you know what I mean.)
Perhaps it’s because, among the four, it’s only fire that is manifested through human endeavor.
(And sure, flames can also arise without the help of homo sapiens, through lightning strikes or volcanic eruptions, but you see my point.)
In any event, it’s clear that when human beings do create fire—admittedly with lots of help from air—especially when near a grand body of water, (especially on a night when the earth beneath that water is especially apparent), and the flames from that conflagration rise to great heights, and the sparks from that blaze scurry over the ground to turn a duck pond into a celestial light show, that it’s impossible for men, women, children, and everything in between, not to cavort merrily, even if that’s only on the inside, while others can’t help vocalizing their joy, exclaiming “hooray,” “huzzah,” “yippie,” and “wow.”
Of all the holiday traditions, maybe the best is the one where you mark the end of the holiday season by setting ablaze the remnants of the holiday season.
There’s something marvelously cathartic about witnessing dozens of artifacts, which only a few days earlier, had been the centerpiece of a family’s festivities, give themselves up to the process of oxidation, releasing heat and generating combustion products to the great amusement of all the assembled humanity.
The chilliest night of the year so far becomes almost too warm for comfort, and if that’s not a metaphor for our shared aspirations, I don’t know what is.
(Well, perhaps gilding the lily with explosives atop the coals, but there are limits, even though often exceeded.)