It wasn't fireworks from some theme park show, nor was it an airliner, or a rocket launch. This was the mark of a lump of space junk: a pebble, a handful of ice, or just a piece of rubbish thrown there by man. It doesn't matter what it was, it just matters what we call it.
A shooting star.
Or maybe we should just wonder at the beauty of the heavens, something we usually hide behind garish sodium vapours and bright tungsten.