Escape place

Rain marks on a lake. Picture this, picture that. Ripples taking a stroll down the water. Find an old white garden bench, marvel for just a second at the talent in the twisted metal, then sit. Stare at the lily pads and wonder how they keep anchored at the lakes bottom. Rain starts to break through your umbrella of leaves overhead, run to the house. Past the Japanese bridge painted a bright red. Over the stepping stones and past the bamboo, through the shōji and into the clear space where her craft is the only thing filling the space.

Skin clothed in white silk and the faint blue glow on the walls. Long violin notes draw on from the back, step towards the stand in the middle of the room. Black wood carved to sweep upwards, intricate swirls like waves flow up from the floor and hold up a white dish. The water is perfectly still. Yet it crashes up against its limits, the glow emitted is unnatural but the closest thing to the sky in the natural world. Let me speak more about the wood stand. This is something that you must imagine, picture it in your mind, as clear as day. The contrasting white almost leaks into the dark wood in your vision. The blue water as still as you want your mind.

Then imagine the woman. The dancer. She represents your thoughts when you can control them. The silk flows around her body like it's disobeying gravity, her arms move with an agile strength that you crave so dearly. Her legs set up the spins that she gracefully falls into. Her body moves like liquid, nothing looks out of place. All smooth pieces linked together so much that you couldn't separate them if you knew the dance yourself. This is a dance that gives you goosebumps down your arms. She flourishes her arms over her head, bringing the silk in tight to a twirl and then she releases it slowly like the air rippling around her. Her dark hair loose, moving as a part of the dance, everything she is, pouring into these movements. Around and around, the dancer dances. This is what she does best.