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Dancing in the Wind

I walk tenderly through the forest; colors of warmth surround me like a blanket of sunshine. With each step I take, the ground beneath me crunches and crackles. The birds in the trees sing a sweet melody, while the crisp leaves gingerly dance in the wind. I’m strolling through the middle of the forest’s orchestra; a symphony I’m intended to be a part of. Feeling relaxed, I whistle along with the birds.


Trees of various shapes and sizes drape over my head, desperately holding onto leaves of different colors. Hues of scarlet, apricot, goldenrod and chartreuse. The reds are so vibrant against the azure sky, and the oranges glow from a distance away. The yellows and greens are very subtle, framing the whole image. Some trees tower, outstretching their branches reaching for the clouds, other trees stand short and still yet complete the forest. Everything is in harmony.


The lake glistens under the morning sun, shimmering like diamonds. Cattails and tall grass wave in the wind saying, “hello”, as I approach. I take a seat on the side of the hill that descends towards the water. The dewy grass feels cool beneath me. I outstretch my legs and lay my head back into the pillow of leaves, grass and sticks that cover the ground. The sky is illuminated. Rays of sun shoot off behind the clouds like spotlights from heaven. I close my eyes and my heart is in tune with this marvel.


I’m dancing with the wind.


My soul fell in love with Irish dance when I was barely out of diapers. The first time I witnessed this wonder I told my parents “I want to do that when I’m older”. Soon after my mom searched non stop to find me the right dance class. Since I was too young for for formal instruction, my parents signed me up for a four session, preschool basic movement course. I was excited going to the first session, I arrived in my favorite tutu, ready to dance. After session two that excitement wore off. I had enough after session three telling my parents “This isn’t dance; they play too many games.” I didn’t return for session four.


After what I considered to be a dancing joke, my mom came across McDonald School of Irish Dance. Practices were held at the First United Methodist Church, in Fargo. The church built in 1874, has exquisite stain glass windows of vibrant colors which embraced my spirit, throughout every room, . My first day was nerve wracking, my knees became weak after each stair as we ascended to the third floor of the church. We faintly heard Celtic music echoing from the end of the third floor hallway. As we moved closer, the music became louder; as did my beating heart. I snuck a peek in and saw the older girls leaping gracefully across the room; they were one with the music. I stood there shaking as the instructor walked towards us. All of a sudden, I bolted out of the room and headed for the stair case. Tears ran down my cheeks as my body melted to the floor in fear. It was only a matter of time before those tears of fear became tears of joy. Dancing makes my soul sing a never ending melody. Every time my feet match the beat of the music, my soul is set free.


Nothing compares to the art nature possesses. It is the beauty within the song that gives my soul life. Nature is God’s music that allows my soul to dance with the wind.






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