The Dance

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The Dance

With gentle groans the trees’ came alive at the winds urging.
It started out slow,
just a flick of an arm here,
a sway in the body there.
But then the wind picked up speed,
Laughing and twirling between her dancers.
She blew and this way and that.
Calling out instructions,
Providing the beat.
The trees hurried to do her bidding,
Ever eager to please their joyous mistress.
They moved with perfect harmony,
Arms either reaching out to their partner,
Or toward the stormy clouds above.
The wind howled with laughter.
She loved the Dance.
She loved the beauty of it.
She loved the power and life that
Hummed in the heavy air of the clearing.
The Trees rejoiced with the wind,
But no tinkling laugh escaped from their silent depths.
Their voices came from the crick of an arm,
Or the rustle of their rich leafy hair.
As they danced old leafs and small parcels of life fell from the trees branches.
The dull leafs were quickly taken into winds embrace
And persuaded to become part of the Dance.
The trees made shallow dips in the fertile soil with their agile feet.
The wind gently prodded the seeds into the beds made for them by their dancing parents.
The trees then covered the seeds with blankets of earth
And the wind told leaves to lie down, to be still and rest
It was their turn to be part of the earth.
Those small chores completed the wind sprang up away from her performers,
Into the cloudy heavens.
The next stage of the Dance was to begin soon.
She signaled to the Clouds.
Rain fell into the grove.
Steady and sensitive.
This part of the Dance was complete.
But the wind did not grieve.
The Dance was never ending.
She would direct this troupe again.
She moved on.





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