In the south, clouds made a cover of milk
Over fields of southern snow
The world was whitewashed but softly so.
In the west,
Dark trees haloed
In pink and purple and red and gold,
In luminescent pastels.
The east was a charcoal drawing
Black outlines in relief
Of shades of gray.
The moment called for movement.
It stirred me,
All my emotions.
It called for dance.
Sad, slow swaying and shuffling,
Point and counterpoint to the evening breeze.
Passioned and zealous leaps and spins
(Jetes and pirouettes, I know the terms)
To the music of the vividly glimmering pastels.
Maybe even frenzied thrashing and pogo-ing
(not for me tonight but maybe for some, I don’t judge).
The heart leads when you dance.
It leads with sadness and sorrow and loneliness,
And with joy, and celebration and exuberant exultation,
And with anger and frustrated fear.
The heart can do all of those at once
And usually does.
It’s a fountain of feeling.
Emotions don’t separate easily.
I’m not saying I actually danced tonight.
I’m not saying I didn’t either.
At that moment,
In the twilight,
My heart definitely danced.
The sky was for dancing.