Waltz
The Beautiful Painter and Rian worked across the wood plank floors from each other today in the Studio.
Yogini had music on, something slow and drifting. Enya, perhaps. The Studio was cold, as the heater has broken, so the only warmth we made was our own and as it was a ttch below the required 85 we were slow.
Practice was a dance, tonight, rather than a battle. Slow and langorous.
And as we worked, the Painter and Rian, facing each other, looking at each other and through each other to our own Selves, we fell into synch, as bodies in motion are want to do. Twist, bow, jump, pause, stretch, look through each other again and at each other again.
It was Perfect. A waltz without touching.
If Rian had been a less honourable and prideful creature, I might have melted at his feet.
Yogini had music on, something slow and drifting. Enya, perhaps. The Studio was cold, as the heater has broken, so the only warmth we made was our own and as it was a ttch below the required 85 we were slow.
Practice was a dance, tonight, rather than a battle. Slow and langorous.
And as we worked, the Painter and Rian, facing each other, looking at each other and through each other to our own Selves, we fell into synch, as bodies in motion are want to do. Twist, bow, jump, pause, stretch, look through each other again and at each other again.
It was Perfect. A waltz without touching.
If Rian had been a less honourable and prideful creature, I might have melted at his feet.
posted by La Tulipe | 7:08 PM
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