there they were, a group of folkdancers outside Au Bon Pain in Harvard Square.
Come join us they said, so I did.
I was wearing new shoes that hadn't yet been broken in.
Still, my feet heard the music and that's all it took.
I actually danced (along with about 40 other people) Every. Single. Kolo.
for two hours, on concrete and brick, without stopping.
To live music, from Rakiya, a Balkan band.
Although I walk and bike a lot with never a bit of stiffness, ache, pain or whatnot
I found myself hobbling to the bus afterwards -- and the next day I was reduced to limping.
I could not bend my left knee without excruciating ouchness What was I thinking?
I think you're supposed to do this kind of thing g-r-a-d-u-a-l-l-y.
It's been decades since I fast-hop-'n-kicked with a group like that.
Could do that in my 20s (and did, three nights a week then). Notsomuchso at 70.
(Remembered most all the steps, though! Like a forgotten language, it all comes back.)
I notice very few people visit this blog. Which emboldens me to experiment with words and art that I might not otherwise post. I still haven't found my voice when writing poetry. The stories just
seem to flow; the poems, however, need to be coaxed out, and once on paper they seem to
want to rush back inside the head, unsure, akin to stage fright. Sometimes the words are ill fitting, the delivery wooden. Or strugglingly imitative. So I spent time today instead playing with shapes and color on a computer Paint program.
It started out as random shapes, until I gave one a pair of eyes. Then the crow appeared, not as predator but benevolent protector, of body-less blobs - a blue walrus, yellow salamander, giddy red worm, grey-green bird, and brownish bear sans ears. Images one might find in a children's book, where noses don't have to resemble real noses, and missing limbs can go unremarked upon.
The first thing I noticed when done were their expressions. Group portrait under protest (say the eyes). Sorry guys. Next time it'll go smoother.