DANCE, DANCE, WHEREVER YOU MAY BE!
A voice tells me it’s “7am…rise and shine!”
My rice krispies jump and gyrate – snap, crackle and pop – on an undulating bed of frothy-white milk – like round, brown bodies dancing on a bouncy castle.
My spoon clinks and tinkles with musicality, diving into a cereal bowl painted floral blues and greens. I crunch, crunch, shambling about, dressing-gowned, arms outstretched to hold my invisible partner – around and around – slow, slow, quick- quick, slow.
The cereal inside the bowl cackles with mirth as I stumble awkwardly into two cats waiting to be fed.
One of them performs a Rumba of superlative quality around my ankles, slinking sexily between my calves. “MI-IA-OW!” she sings in harmony with the sensuality of her sumptuous dance.
“Tea for two…and two for tea!” I sing along, moving in time to the beat of his tail. He glares! I suppose I’d better feed him.
The cat biscuits shush and shake a magnificent mambo in faultless 4/4 time.
Slurping tea, I skip a polka out through the patio door. Shout a hearty “Good morning!” to my feathered friend, the blackbird who lives in my pine tree. He whistles a greeting and trips the light fantastic, hopping back and forth doing the jitterbug, opening his bright yellow beak, carolling “chk – chk” for his breakfast.
bending and pecking, right there, at the toe of my slipper!
I tip-toe away to dance a jig – “YESSS!” I hiss. Just a bit nearer every day! I’ll have him eating out of my hand before long.
Mr Blackbird’s lady friend appears from the tree, flapping her grey-flecked wings to waft bountiful aromas of forest and pine. She’s fatter than the male. Waddles an ungainly quick-step toward him to get her share of the treats.
It’s Spring-time and love is in the air. He turns and makes an oblique run at her, head bobbing, open-beaked, tail feathers fluffed to do his dance of love.
The cat-flap judders like a drum-roll and out shoot the cats – in a crouch, wiggling rear-ends like crazy. I think they’re all set to Salsa but Mr and Mrs Blackbird know better. And with a cacophony of sound, they leap to the air together in a perfect pas-de-deux. With a huge percussive flapping of their wings, they fly off to their cup-shaped love-nest of twigs and grass and moss.
Ah well, that’s that then! And like a wallflower without a partner for the last dance, I sneak back indoors hoping no-one noticed.
© Sheila Newton 2010