Crescent Shadows On-Line Newsletter of the Hudson Valley Pagan Network, Inc.

Ribbons of people  turning in the new sun  in the park  their dawn come.  Flocking in and separating,  diminishing and rolling up  while music plays  soap bubbles bobbing, teasing                                      the air  A green girl pushing through  the flowing currents of color -  she catches the tempo, infected by sound,  finds her own open spaces, whirls around,                                      makes a pair  With a harlequin dervish  surrounded by living music  and appreciators,  following a rhythm that exceeds  all thought -  he dances, she dances  all in the middle of many others  hair shaking free  under sailing cloud  with a big golden dog dancing along,  shadows shifting like play of sun colors,  like pungent smoke drifting -  and a lame balloon man hobbles along  with his tank,  smiling at the grinning dog, tongue lolling  who can’t keep up - so follows  his own intransitive tempo -  Hat packed with borrowed columbines,  glories of the passing morning, when the cool green girl

catches the full force of what  her partner and everyone else  has the knack of.  Herself disappears  in the whirl of floating clouds  and circles spinning about her,  there but not there, while feet  flatten the grass in torso-dance  moving hip to hip, back to back,  cheek to cheek,  no pairs but dozens together,  dancing blind  to the swirling irregular pastels  and bright shades of allColor,  just sensing the clapping sound -   the slapping beat - of Shiva’s drum,  overbearing all other instruments,  just dancing apart and back together  because it feels good.    And returns to herself,  flat on her back in the damp grass,  giggling at the contagious music  not so strenuous now, after all  the unreckoned, unheeded time -     A flower passes hand to hand  between new friends  while the big dog stands over shaking   his delirious tail,    Then leaps up, tongue flying sidewise  as open mouth points at a platter  spinning just beyond his grasp -     The windmill crowd migrates raggedly  to a crest of land nearby,    Replaced by another entire crowd.       Percussion                  Still                              Survives

Return to HVPN Home Page

This page visited  times.

Last Updated: January 30, 2002
Copyright 2001-2002 - Hudson Valley Pagan Network