For the times in life when the Inner Joy dies a little. Here is the gift of restoration.
For a very little while, just a few, short weeks a couple of years ago, I managed to afford dancing lessons. I had always been a dancer and ballroom had replaced the stage after the pointe shoes had to go. But I hadn’t danced for a very long time. Decades.
Writing yesterday’s post and thinking of remembered joy took me back to that first waltz in so very long. The instructor, wanting to assess how much… or how little… I knew… waltzed me once around floor and stopping, with a grinning hobbit at arms length said, “You haven’t forgotten hardly anything.” Then we went back and started again and something inside me was incandescent.
The joy of those first moments of music, movement and dance was something I will never forget… and as my friend had come along too, I have a reminder if ever I needed one. She recorded…
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