A Dancer's Commencement.
July 02, 2012
(Please listen while you read. It sets the mood of the piece. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kS9SUmAyKWM )
This song is different… the gypsies’ hands are coaxing out a strange slow sound. It seeps into your bones and makes you feel like you are trapped in a memory. You tug nervously at your collar; this isn’t a waltz, or a sarabande, or allemande. It is like nothing you’ve learned and all your new found skills seem almost useless in the face of this odd new enchantment. You turn to flee the ballroom when you feel a touch on your hand.
There she is again, your sweet angel of dance. Her eyes hold a strange light as she draws you back out into the small circle of the few dancers brave enough to face the yearning tug of the music. You can see that the slow magic of the song has worked its charm on her just as strongly as you can feel it on yourself. But she does not fear it.
Her smile is bright with a dim secret joy. Her hands are soft against yours as she slips away in the cadenced flow of the steps only to return moments later. You follow her when she leads, no longer feeling the drag of the gypsy magic around you. Now it is so deep it has become a part of you, and you wonder how she can move so freely and easily under the weight of it.
Again she slips away, her body swaying and dipping with the music, and you realize in an instant that she is a magic all her own, that this is no less normal to her than choosing which gown to wear when she wakes up. The music fades and the only enchantment left to feel is hers as you pull her close, and let your feet take the lead, to carry you both through until the Romanies’ hands grow tired and the magic fades.
And you are left with the magic in your arms.