Carnival

I dance through the paved street in a sequence of steps. With a mask of  glitters and sparkles that throw broken chard’s of light to the people cheering in the streets.

The music of a hundred flutes invites me to leap, jump, and tumble. My steps are called delight and I am the ballerina floating in the snow of a white out.

The people watch, cheer, and clap their hands, high, over their heads. I turn cartwheels in the street. The bells I wear draw attention.

I use my long, slim legs in tights of green and orange to leap and express the happiness of life through living. I am a part of the whole - part of the crowds, the performers and those who wear their vestments.

The celebration of carnival resides inside and outside of me.

It is about the motion of life - life leaps into surprises of wrapped golden gifts. It then jumps over hurdles of birthday presents wrapped in silver paper. Sometimes life tumbles to scrap off frosting from the pink, blue and yellow cupcakes molded in poka- dot paper.

My costume is worn with pride, like the uniform of a soldier. I am the elder warrior, a fiercely protective mother to an army of six - I own the scars to have proof of my battles, won.

Age allows for my graceful rhythm - it has the specified role. Call it the boogie, call it a frolic. Inside my garb is free and the rhythm migrates to the outside in a style and class for a particular and place.

~ by Patricia Hine Stewart on December 28, 2006.