Adagio

For the past week and a half, I have been mesmerized by the daily performance in my neighbor's front yard. The dancer's trunk is upright, then suddenly her back yields and gracefully her limbs arch and droop. Her form is partially obscured by color---deeply faceted citrine stones, rubies, and emeralds sparkle about her---in fact, the colors seem to emanate from her. The same colors fall in gentle drifts surrounding her, reminiscent of The Nutcracker's snow scene, yet it is not 16 dancers on stage, but one. She pirouettes, sways, flutters to and fro, then becomes still. Another breeze sweeps across the lawn, kisses her lifted arms, and the Japanese Maple begins her dance all over again.