A couple of years ago, I took Dance Theater Workshop’s Writing on Dance Class taught by Wendy Perron. As an exercise, we were asked to sit still somewhere and write our observations of the movements around us in the place we had chosen. I recently came across the bit I wrote while sitting in my landlord’s backyard. Reading it, I was again struck by how much it resembles a description of a dance. Performance and inspiration is constantly around us, if we just take the time to linger in the present tense and watch.
The leaves flutter. A bird alights, pecking for a moment, then off again. Another dives toward a branch, checking his speed with his tiny wings as he approaches. Branches bend and shuffle. The iron post creaks in the wind straining to balance its cargo of wooden wind chimes. The leaves of the ivy shiver, and each blade of grass trembles as it reaches toward the sky. A trinket-sized bird balances on a wire, bouncing as his quick tail counterbalances up and down. Another sits atop a tree branch, feathers fluttering furiously as he calls to his kin. As if stung, one drops mid-flight from the sky, only at the last minute flipping to land lightly in the grass. The flowers are still. Listening.
