I’ve been dreaming of twirling, of dancing across a vast sports hall, flying through the air with my baton, my daemon, spinning high above me.
I remember the joy, the release, the power, the energy!
I remember flying!
Could I do that again?
I still have my baton.
I could hire a hall.
I could dance.
Maybe. Why not?
What if someone saw you?
A woman nearly forty, leaping around as she did a child?
I was fourteen when I gave up: a young woman.
I could stretch.
You’d need too.
And maybe, maybe I could… maybe I could, invite the troupe.
The troupe? A troupe of 40 year old majorettes???
They’ll be consumed by unmade beds, school lunches, ironing piles, never to be read Summer Reads, celebrity gossip, facebook updates and pics and vids and clearing their laminate floor and Swedish flatpack from under the weight of their endless, endless kiddy litter! They’ll be no time for….. There’s barely time to sleep!
What about dreams?
(Maybe they twirl in their dreams too.)