I never saw her before. A fragile frame animated by a pulsating vibration, a graceful silhouette with an elastic footfall, a twirling blur of entwined movement.
I had then no companion but folly, and in his council I let my ear indulge. Too great was my wonder and as I grew more intense in my observation of the rhetoric of movement I let slip the chains and bounds of my soliloquy.
In the midst of the symphonic chatter that now held sway over any musical sensibility, I considered the girl.
Her limbs were thin, long and branchlike, her body frail, and her cloths were mere impediments of expression. Her hair was brittle, like thin glass...it had no colour, but it was vivid. Her stare was blank, filmy blue eyes induced the illusion of sight. But this was only a cheap trick, for I could see beyond their translucent gaze, their self-induced watchfulness. Her feet were tiny, yet somehow proportion made its clandestine presence felt. Her shoes were light.
Her dance was of a mesmeric quality. The circles that were erected by her hands to the rhythm of some unheard logic, the pattern of her waltzing shape cutting pure geometry into the very fabric of accentuated time, this was pure motion animating motion. The action that in turn generates its own roots. By itself separated....
( Photo: Blinded-by-the-light / Deviant Art )
1 comment:
I like this very much. Light and shadow at play, a tarantella and ballet of movement. The words conjure up a kaleidoscope of changing form and shape - rapid movement captured in slow motion. I can almost hear the music.
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