Windows – 5 (interiors)
at the brow of the hill a stone wall, a dun crown, and at its heel, a trail; from heel to brow the wander walked, pacing the arc the sun traced in the sky
Category Archives: Creation
Sambamaré
O coração baía aberto ao maré as águas vêm as águas vão prá onde eu não sei Chegam de tempestade ao suspiro elas vão escrevem nomes na areia que as ondas apagarão … instrumental Correnteza agridoce pôs tesouros à beira-mar que beleza me traz sorriso despedida me faz chorar Correnteza agridoce faz tesouros aterrisar que …
wealth of tears
She covered her face with her hands as though to stop the tears that flowed, as though to hide her love from the world, as though to keep it from pouring out.
lição das horas
Com idade se ama mais
Windows – 4
I At the sliding glass door she stood, looking at the night. Through her own reflection she could see, in order of diminishing certainty, the branches of a pine, the outline of flowers along the walk (in shades of gray), lawn that faded into the darkness of what she knew to be a road. When …
voices
Arriving at the far end of the day the passengers who had not stepped from the train composed their books and closed their eyes and sighed: we have arrived. as quickly as our sight is shuttered the blank horizon of the mind is lit as though a sky inside, through sudden sunset brightens with those …
Windows – 3
Lonny was the product of big energy and tiny town, where the limitations imposed by three square blocks of homes — an Alcatraz adrift on an ocean of unswimmable wheat — fueled the kind of incendiary pressure that could only come out wrong. Even back then, when I was eight and Lonny was nine, his …
His truth; her truth
— The wind swept north and as the weather lifted, my spirit lifted, as though cloud held the weight of me, and sun held the lightness. Is it that easy? A wind? I wanted to believe it was heartache, it was joy brewing in my heart; but maybe heartache and joy are related to weather …
Inuksuit
The inuksuit born of the weight in our hands as stone after stone they choose to stand their lives take form in the foundry of the heart they rise and arise on the bank of the fjord to wait in the wind for the one who returns they speak without speaking but when? but when? lighthouse …
curve
“The curve of the river is where the breeze comes freshest. You can hear the leaves find voice before each gust arrives, like an invisible wave reaching upstream, downstream. On this bank is the small shore, because the arm of water hooks around us here, an embrace. The far bank is the long shore: from here …
Jazz
Recently someone asked me about the form of dance I practice — the form I aspire to, really; and like all good forms it is small enough for me to wrap my arms around, large enough to contain my curiosity, lean enough that an evening costs a few dollars and yields a fortune, full enough …
Our Daily Dance: An Intention
I returned late last night from the annual Dance New England summer camp near Lake Ossipee in New Hampshire, and woke this morning with dancing tape still on a couple of toes, the echo of taut and trained muscle still in the sinews, and the ache of separation from that vibrant and affectionate community of dancers already wringing out …