Glory. It is fleeting. It dies almost as soon as it is born, and a moment's thought can make it evaporate into the cold vapor of the existence. Thus, strike all thought: there are fireworks, and the air, and the irresistible urge to loll in the moment though you know there are flights to catch, work to do, and calls to make.
Forget them all. This is glory. Grab it while you may.