DANCE LIKE NO ONE IS WATCHING II
A woman with tight, curly gray hair, wearing a white eyelet blouse and a blue handkerchief-print skirt positioned herself on the concrete dance floor just below the outdoor stage. The MC introduced the opening act on the final day of the annual blues festival. A few wanna-be dancers lingered nearby. The majority of the crowd sat comfortably in tent-chairs.
The blues harmonica started, then the guitar, and then one guy started wailing my-baby-done-left-me vocals.
A giant speaker blocked my view of the musicians, but I could see her. She started dancing, distracted only once to adjust the small cross-body purse she wore.
With a crowd of about 1,000 behind her, her body moving in her unique way, and all I can think: She's dancing like nobody's watching.
From my comfortable vantage point of a somewhat shaded bench -- my legs are baking in my blue jeans -- I can't take my eyes off her.
She's free; she's confident, she's lost in the music, the movement, the moment. Maybe she has ten thousand life pressures pushing down on her, but they are vapor right now.
My own ten thousand pressures have somehow evaporated as I follow the steps of her Tevas in the few square feet of space she has claimed on the earth. I watch her skirt blow in the breeze her movements create.
She's not young. She's not small. She's just up there expressing herself for the delight of no one but herself, as far as I can tell.
This goes on, song after song, as others start moving to the rhythm.
I'm not compelled to dance, but I'm dancing inside. Even if I am only watching.
(c) 2017 Catherine M. Greenspan
P.S. Here's a link to the first DANCE LIKE NO ONE IS WATCHING blog.