Poor Wile E. Coyote.
It’s been 50 years since he’s been trying to catch the Roadrunner.
His ingenuity and tenacity notwithstanding, none of his tactics have been successful.
Especially his rocket launchers.
After assembling a formidable amount of dynamite sticks, he’d mount the T.N.T. bundle, ready himself for launch, and light the wick.
The flame would hungrily eat the strand, making its way up to the dynamite for its triumphant eruption.
But every time it got close to detonating, the flame fizzled.
He never went anywhere.
A promising start died right where it began.
I’ve had a couple of those fizzles.
Like the light tickling of champagne, the potential is effervescent.
The possibility dances in the air.
It brushes against your cheekbone and pops before your eyes.
And then it goes flat.
But too much air…
Not enough space…
Something melts the explosive start into a fizzle before it even takes off.
And perhaps that’s for the best.
Something that can end so easily wasn’t built to last anyway.