Norah's birthday. I think of Norah and "Wild Woman" is usually the first thing that comes to mind. So for more than a week I have been trying to channel the Wild Woman spirit. I picture the fierce beauty of D'Sonoqua crouching in the dense forest and mist of the West Coast of B.C. I try to make the image of her hold steady in my mind, like a brand on the inside of my skull.
But alas, for as much as I have attempted to draw down spikey cool energy from the sliver of moon, or to twist the cold breeze around my fingers into a ball of feminine mystery, I remain graceless.
This week I succeeded in repeatedly banging my hands and fingers against numerous hard surfaces. I also tripped several times on level flooring and this morning I nearly went to work with my shirt on inside out. Luckily I caught sight of myself in the mirror while I was brushing my teeth. A full ten seconds it took me -staring into the mirror while toothpaste goo dripped down my chin - to figure out what exactly was wrong.
There is one reprieve. Tonight I danced the Zaječarka and the Hasapiko and I didn't fall over.
So Happy Birthday, Wild Woman. You may continue to elude me, but I shall honour you in my own way. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to ice my bruises.
Egglestonesque?
14 hours ago
1 comment:
Chickadee, if you are graceless then swans are construction workers.
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