Waltzing in the Clouds

     One two-three, one two-three I moved my feet in rhythm to the loud waltz music which was swallowed by the well-lit auditorium. It was a basic waltz square, but as a follower (that is, the dancer who follows) without a partner I wasn’t sure if I was stepping correctly. After several fruitless glances at the surrounding couples (most of whom were in more trouble than I) I subtly studied the graceful movements of the couple to my left. The young man was pale with crisp black hair and clothes, and he expertly led his current partner, an older woman with long gray hair and a friendly face, in a perfect waltz square. Their motions were fluid and beautiful -- this was the type of dancer I wanted to be.
     Abruptly, I noticed that my steps were incorrect -- right foot then left. I sighed internally. Me, with two left feet, a graceful dancer? Well, a girl can dream.
    “All right, I think it’s about time for a partner change,” our instructor’s voice announced through the speaker system. Leaders and followers exchanged thanks for the pleasant dance, then leaders shifted to their right. I now had a partner -- the dancer whose movements I’d just been admiring.
    His features were sharp, his dark eyes framed by long black lashes, but the touch which he used to guide me was surprisingly light. We began with the basic square, and despite the occasional toe collision, we danced rather well. Our movement improved as I became accustomed to the feel of him, until it took only a nudge to send me gliding in the right direction. Our progress -- or, rather, his incredible skills as a leader -- delighted me.
    “This is great!” I murmured exuberantly as he flawlessly transitioned us into another step we’d learned. Though momentarily distracted by my feet, I still heard his reply.
    “I’m glad you think so,” he agreed with a mild grin. The frame of his arms straightened and relaxed as the teacher passed by. Then he grimaced.
    “Ugh,” he muttered, “I’d be so much better if I was more awake. I’m barely alive,” he added, his eyelids drooping. I shook him playfully.
    “So I’m dancing with a zombie? Psh, that’s okay. I have enough energy for both of us!” I added with an emphasizing grin. An answering smile tugged at his lips and finally escaped in a chuckle.
      We danced impeccably for a quiet span. “You should try it with your eyes closed,” he suggested as he turned me into another position and we continued dipping across the floor.
    “It feels wonderful, like you’re flying in the clouds,” he urged. Never before had I trusted my feet enough to lose sight of my surroundings, but I felt fairly safe with him. Obediently, my lids descended.
    Though I could no longer see it, my body continued its swirling motion with a grace I couldn’t have accomplished on my own. He changed my position, and though I’d done the step a hundred times, this time I ran into his foot, and my eyes shot open.
    “Sorry,” I mumbled, blushing.
    “Don’t apologize,” he lightly replied, shrugging off my incompetency. I was grateful for that. The instructor’s voice interrupted our discourse.
    “There’s another part of waltz...” she began, and proceeded to demonstrate the new step. She divided the class into leaders and followers, and after a few individual practices told us to pair up again. Grinning, I went immediately to my previous partner. He looked amused at my obvious preference for his company.
    “This time,” he murmured as we moved into position, “don’t open your eyes for anything. Anything. No matter what happens.” I couldn’t imagine what he thought might happen, but something about the proposition thrilled me. Eyes closed, I let the words enter my heart, and we began to dance.
    We stepped and a sweet serenity washed into me. We seemed to glide like ice on oiled glass, and the movement was so silky my mind soon drifted until it disappeared, sunk into a sea of cloud. It was like forgetting, losing who I was, but at the same time something made me whole. He was right -- it was like being in the clouds, though not quite flying. It was too slow, to smooth for flying. This felt like swimming, floating on a sea of cloud, a sea of color, pastel pink and blue and green. Gravity and friction forgotten, all I could feel was the gentle pressure of his hands, and the peculiarly delightful way which air seemed to flow through me rather than around me.
    “Dancing is like breathing,” I hummed, cocooned in a lullaby of cloud.
      It seemed strange when we halted, and it took me a second to realize the song was over. Still, I did not open my eyes -- this moment was too sweet to end. Yet, as with all good dreams of color and cloud, it did finish; but that was okay because I had not lost something wonderful -- I’d gained something beautiful.
    I smiled up at my partner, the man who’d shared a taste of grace, that illustrious wine which I so rarely sipped. “Thank you,” I whispered, and finding no ready adjective to completely describe the experience, I contented myself with smiling joyfully.
    “Yes, well, I am amazing...” he replied with a smug smile.
    “Don’t flatter yourself,” I teased. “Though you are amazing,” I added.
    “Have we switched recently? Switch partners!” the teacher instructed.
    We bowed our heads to each other. “Thank you for the dance,” his formal words were belied by his charmed tone.
    “Thank you,” I answered with a flourish in his direction.

Three Class Quick-Writes

Stonehenge

The first thing I remember is the sea.

It's been a long time since I was at the sea -- that was a rough life, wearing -- but never monotonous.  Each wave brought a new tickle, a new sensation.  Life is much quieter here, full of lighter sensations, full of heat and dirt and the occasional cricket.  I always liked dawn at the sea, but sunset is better here.  The fire recedes from the sky and I am drawn in -- my brothers are silent, I am the only one who still watches the sky.

 

Merlin

The feeling spread within him; his blood slowed, turned to sap.  His legs grew heavy and melded with the ground, and his fingers curled into graceful branches.  So observed Merlin, after all these years speaking with trees, this is how it feels to be one.  The scraggly white beard petrified and Merlin felt his essence leaking form his mind and into the other pores of his being like water spurting from a cracked bucket.

 

Jimi

Sky

High

Eye see you!

Don't deny

Rectify

You may burn inside –

but music makes you beautiful

quote of the Day 21: play practice

"Why do they have five kids if they don't sleep in the same bed?"

"Trust me, you can do it anywhere." -- Mrs. Martin

"Okay everyone, I want you to take your clothes off" -- Mrs. Martin

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

:D

i love this show

i'll be really sad when it's over :(

another day

so, i'm listening to some awesome indian music (Tere Bin!) and contemplating the day. it was average, but epic.

shane said something to me at lunch today which made me laugh uncontrollably. and i'm not talking about the little hyena giggles i usually have, these were full-blown boisterous guffaws. it was just one of those little incidents which make me realize how unique and fantastic my friends are :)

the title of this is the name of a song from RENT that's awesome (aren't they all?!). i just noticed that, haha.

i blew my voice in rehearsal again (i REALLY need to practice projecting but my voice is so frail right now. GAH!) so i'm sitting here sipping hot lemon (hot water with lemon and honey in it) and have vowed (silently) to not speak for the rest of tonight.

i have no more classes until monday, and have balanced my time enough to be able to get MOST of my homework done. the rest of it i'll divvy up between the free time i have the rest of the weekend -- tonight i'm reading my book, listening to music, and relaxing. Salut!

quote of the Day 20

"What should we name him?" -- Raeo

"Doug." -- Anna

"Doug the suicidal rolly polly!" -- Caity

"I'd write a children's book called that." -- Anna

"Very expressive! No Botox in that face!" -- Julie Eau

"Kona, why're you trying to come back in?  It was your idea to go out dog, not mine.  Ah, it's silly, trying to have an intelligent conversation with the dog." --mum.  (she says that, and yet she continues to talk to the animals... if you wonder where i got it, now you know :)

"You could rub this on your face afterword if you like."

"Well, when you put it like that... how could I possibly refuse?!?!" -- Anna

we were talking about orange peels. :P

my little poems

the sky is a painting
with swatches of thick gray cloud
and the universe for its canvas
***
the air is a blanket
a warm caress
a kiss of fabric
***
Every pore spills poetry
Radiating with the fervence of life
And the will to live
***
Beauty lies in
the delicate curvature of the neck
where shadows pool
into a hollow basin.
***
thoughts are as fleeting as
a delicate aroma
carried by the wind
***
When the morning sun
wakes, it peeks through hidden forest glades
and the birds sing life.
***
Water trickles down
the sheer, long gray mountain face
gradually: drip drip
***
Blossoms turn and smile
with the greatest reverie
when my love walks by
***
the egret taks wing
from the gray and marshy plain
into winter’s sky
***
Sun doth kiss the flowers
Wind and shore doth kiss the sea
Why kiss you not me?
***
Souls are light and hard to catch
they have wings of silk
in the time of the butterflies

i will sing

People have different reactions to my singing, reactions which often speak to their character and how we'll relate to one another. The first reaction is either amusement, fascination, or irritation (these are of course gross simplifications, because truly everyone's reaction, like their personality, is different).

The amused ones put up with me for a while, like a new exhibit in a freak show. The fascinated usually become my closest friends. Some of them never get sick of it -- they enjoy singing, sharing in the excitement of music, even joining me!  Others of the "initially fascinated" category become irritated at times due to mood or circumstance, and ask me to stop.  I can respect that.  It's the constantly irritated, forever annoyed people who I can't stand.  Not because they don't care for my singing -- I can respect someone who wants quiet.  It's the malevolent attitude I get which shocks me.  It's someone reacting with a cruelty and savagery totally beyond what the situation called for.  It's someone fixating on something so trivial and directing their displaced anger at it... this is what both unnerves me and disgusts me.

I've sung since I was little... well, for as long as I can remember.  And for just as long I've been ridiculed for it.  Not by everyone -- indeed, the negative comments have lessened severely in high school, but it's amazing how isolated daggers of cruelty can wound.  Yet I never gave up singing.   Perhaps singing is part of my own subconscious battle for individuality.  Perhaps, even when I was young music was too ingrained in my spirit for me to ever leave it behind.