Posted by: syncopated1 | June 6, 2011

“I’ll dance with you [on a mountain.]”

Coffee for him, tea for her, and a light European style breakfast of homemade foccacia bread and apples in tow the friends had gotten up early to explore the island before he had to work. That morning was perfect for a driving tour of Mount Desert Island; the sun had been up and full since just after 6:00, the air just on the underside of warm, but full of potential. He had been awake since the sun had begun tapping him purposely, yet kindly, on his forehead and was alert and eager for the drive. She had been woken less gently about five minutes before they left at 7:30 by him; she was less alert as they pulled out of the drive. The friends meandered about the island for some time with their breakfasts before they turned the car onto the Park Loop Road and followed the signs leading to the summit of Mount Cadillac.

Pulling into the parking lot at the top, the air was cool but the sun had already blasted the coast of Maine into radiant vistas as far as the eye could see. He parked the car, rolled down the windows, and popped a CD into the player. Cranking the volume, the two friends exited the vehicle and stood facing each other as they mentally counted themselves into the song. As the opening bars to Take This Waltz by Leonard Cohen wound up and his deep, husky baritone began to intone his beautiful poetry the friends stepped to the beat and waltzed in the morning light, smiles as bright as the sun itself.

Neither had ever danced on top of a mountain, let alone had the forethought to plan to waltz atop one! As the guitar and lyre swept them away, he gently led her in a loose circle, and she allowed him to daringly take her on the adventure of his irregular step pattern, stepping backward when he lightly pressed upon her right hand, and following him in the other direction when his right pulled upon the small of her back. Neither missed a step; they had been dancing together for years now, rising and falling with the music and yet steadily stepping with the metronomic beat of this particular song.

Just as the last notes floated into the air he twirled her out to the extent of his reach and bowed. With her curtsy in return, the last of the fog on the harbor burned away before the day.

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Responses

  1. Dang it. You CAN write! This piece strikes me as particularly gentle, or dream like.

    You forgot the slightly out of breath part. 😉

    • Well, admitting the slightly out of breath part takes away from the dream like or gentle atmosphere, doesn’t it?


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