Oh, I can shake a hip or two, moving my hands to suggest I know what I’m doing. But to dance, really dance would be to lift a long trim leg into the air and hold it there until you are out of breath. I want to swirl through the cracks in your heart blowing open the doors to the reality of movement. I want to leap weightless across your stage landing softly upon your consciousness and wriggle my shoulders free of life’s shawl.
Because I cannot dance – I struggle to teach 26 letters the art of holding, swirling, leaping, landing and wriggling free of life’s nasty decorum.
This one is cleverly cute, Gwen! 🙂 Nice to meet you! Uncle Tree
I wasn’t really “trying” to be clever – I hit with such memories of the days I used to dance and those individuals I used to dance with. That desire has been sublimated by writing but there are days (and that was one) when the level of wine in my glass determines the power of my ’70’s college memories. Thanks for the ‘like’ Good to meet you too