In the morning I go across the road to a patch of flowers dressed like young girls taking part in their first ballet recital
With arms outstretched, they pirouette before me as the light comes on.
Each in her own version of arabesque, one leg firmly holding the ground
while the corps de ballet begins to dance into the day.
Individual dancers appear to hear unique tunes as the dancers sway in several directions at once.
Even at this sweet age, some have the attitude of a star, that prima dona who must be the center of attention and has somehow finagled a costume far brighter than all the other dancers.
But all bring the music to life. Each performs a personal dance that, once begun, becomes part of the whole, a performance that uses such individual movements to highlight the ensemble. My eye refuses to focus on one dancer. The flower song is danced across the grass before me.
