a Run, a Drive, a Dance, a Twist, and a Song

I wish I were a better writer so I could adequately capture the emotions around weekend events and convey them with sequenced letters to assemble words into pictures so that you could see them too.

A hill that was steep but you managed it.  The woman, your mentor, who said she heard your breath "rattle" which you normally associate with death in the South so your mind drifted early to the memorial hours before you would attend.

The woman who wore red instead of black and you thought it was a much better sentiment and that if the moment comes and you should wear black, perhaps you would want to wear red because that is her favorite color:  the color of nails, toasters, cars and who knows how many dresses.

The elderly woman listening to Irish music who kept tapping her feet while she sat beside her friend.  You suggested that she had a dance in her and she told you she was busy dancing with ghosts.

The teacher who moved your spine into a twist of epic proportions while you held your foot with one hand.  

The collections of voices raised into song that makes your list of unexpected beauty in a town not known more for rockets than music.  

No books.  Five stories.