Gathering of Dancers

Step, step, forté, and again dip before you spin again. From the seats, we cannot discern her countenance, but we can see her chest rising upward and downward. Her silhouetted shoulders droop as she prepares for another try. I can envision her in the white costume accentuated now by the shadows that remind me of the tragic end of this ballet. Despite whatever fatigue she must feel, the dark side of her revives her strength twirling her in a dazzling spectacle of sinew.

And to think that while all this effort is occurring inside, outside the city braces itself for another winter storm. In the morning as the train turns toward Manhattan, the workers disturb the snow, huddling around a fire as if this was only the beginning...

Lifting her arms again and again slowly fluttering before departing on a jump and twirl, she exhales as she lands, knowing that another night of practice will come. She tiptoes off the stage and waves goodbye to the group who stands transfixed by such persistence.

When we walk out of the theater, the air is surprisingly fresh. In all this eternal winter, there is a reprieve; we only have to adjust our step. More than anything else, the rehearsal of that swan queen enchanted me not with its sorcery but rather its inexorable humanity.