A gleaming moon was raised above her head, clouds of fog  wrapped around her legs. She stood looking distantly into the crowd, as if dreaming of a far away land. Only a few knew that she was getting ready to perform, trying not have bad form.

With one ground plie she was off the ground, soaring through the air with such grace one couldn’t breathe. A wish to be up there with her was surging from feet to toe. Every arabesque landed softly and gently.   Every pas and pique plucked the floor, as if the ballerina was stepping on a needle. The dancer had such elevation in each step one’s eyes would open in awe.

At the end of the dancers amazing feat she takes a large fondue. Everyone claps; those who don’t are too stunned to say a word. She had leapt like a swan, and her feet were so graceful they could make a song, if only the dance could be forever long.   

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