as she laces up her skates, earbuds in,
she hums along to the main theme of swan lake
one of her favorites by tchaikovsky
she wouldn't call herself a classical music aficionado by any means
there was just something about the graceful lilts and trills of the oboe
the delicate pizzicato and tremolo of the strings
that awoke some greater entity from deep within her
one with the persona of a proud, elegant bird
feathers tucked just so
delicate beak held high
long neck a column of fine china
it is this character that she tries to assume
as she glides out onto the empty ice
the lights above her are no longer flickering fluorescents
but twinkling stars
the lonely shine of the moon
she takes a breath
hands held apart from her body
arms spread like wings
and then,
the swan begins to fly
dainty and cautious at first
growing more daring as she becomes used to the chilled air stinging her cheeks
and the movements come to be more natural
for she is not only listening to the music
her body responds to every twist and turn of sound
every intricate melody and wispy harmony
she is a violin,
a flute,
every instrument in the symphony
is expressed, touched, caressed by her body
as she skirts across the ice
but, most of all
she is a swan
YOU ARE READING
into the woods (on hold)
Короткий рассказ*on hold until further notice* she took off her shoes and walked into the woods she felt lost and found with every step she took and she explored things she never would have dared to before
