Circular-shaped firework

Usage examples of pinwheel.

Niles smiled as Russell tumbled from the loft in counterfeit glee, hurtling through the air, his arms pinwheeling, his body arcing into space and dropping out of the light into blackness, his voice ricocheting from the recesses of the barn as he landed with a thud in the haymow twenty feet away across the threshing floor.

The image of the moon pinwheeled as the Space Command pilot went through a victory roll, then slipped out of the viewer as they pulled their Speeds back toward the darkness.

Above my workstation, a pinwheel spins lazily in the draft of the ventilation system.

He was halfway to the building, running splayfooted, arms making ragged pinwheels at his sides.

He did not have time to consider the implications of a blow powerful enough to send a twelve-hundredton Privateer-class patrol ship tumbling like a pinwheel, nor the fact that the blow itself was the reaction from most of the Weasers air exhausting to space in explosive decompression.

Clusters and metagalaxies formed, and actual galaxies began to pinwheel into their familiar spiral forms.

The thief pinwheeled across the tops of the grass like a skipped stone, and came to a gentle, dizzy landing three hundred feet away.

It was so dark that she kept squeezing her eyes shut just to see the pinwheeling colors form on her eyelids.

Sunbright glimpsed two surprised faces topped by red hair, and felt his own craft lurch from the added weight and the pinwheeling of the hooked wing.

I decide to turn on my swiveling fan so all the pinwheels and spin spirals can spin together, filling my office with twinkling light.

Stacy looking at all the twinklies, the spin spirals and pinwheels and other decorations.

I send the wood flying out into the corridor among the Cats, then I smash the pinwheel into the wall at my side, exploding the planks into what I hope is a blinding cloud of splinters and sawdust.

Dogtown was a chaotic subcluster, pinwheeling slowly to itself above the rotational axis of C-K.

Hundreds of yards and hundreds of passengers away, Gwyn Barry, practically horizontal on his crimson barge, shod in prestige stockings and celebrity slippers, assenting with a smile to the coaxing refills of Alpine creekwater and sanguinary burgundy with which his various young hostesses strove to enhance his caviar tartlet, his smoked-salmon pinwheel and asparagus barquette, his prime fillet tournedos served on a timbale of tomato and a tapenade of Castilian olivesGwyn was in First.

His knights were forming their pinwheel, racing ahead of him in a line to cut off reavers that thundered into battle, their thick carapaces crashing against the stony ground.