Swift bare feet pound and release worn, gritty pavement.
Cobbled stone surrounds flowing fountain. Ecstatic feet pounding to the beat, to the swirl. A small crowd caught up in the trance, poetry, simple music, a lady dancing, glinting with glitter and smiles that light from her eyes.
Just as taskmaster day slides into night with welcome melancholy, rush of breeze reminiscent of dismembered yearnings. It helps to get caught up in ritual, undisciplined ceremony. Make a break from responsibilities. We don’t always have to be running to keep up with the plan.
Thrown, another dollar in the gypsy’s bright woven basket. Her exuberant craft reminds us to delight in the moment, feel being here as a part of shared energy, a tribal peace. If we could each rhythmically extend, sing out our own creations, move completely from serene centers, unconscious of pressing time or important matters, how could we continue as the labor pool we have come to depend upon to sustain the world we know? We pay for the service to our soul, and hurry on.
Renata learns this city in excursions, finding objects to fashion into musical percussions, colorful craftworks, collaged art. She finds open air markets and parks where performers display their wares. People gladly throw coins and bills into her open basket as she dances charismatically to the tunes of her spontaneous poetry. Betty plays rhythmically, supplies beats and counterbeats upon their found object percussion kit. Her eyes turned downward, her vision inward, Betty enjoys playing musical accompaniment on the instruments they fashioned, garishly or arcanely embellished. It can be amazing what people freely throw away that can be put to good purpose with love and imagination. Their audience also gladly buys other art pieces they have set out on their temporary stage.
Renata’s natural authority is obvious on an unspoken level to everyone who sees her. It is one of those unspoken mysteries that she, who counts on keen awareness, is oblivious to her own power.
By instinct Renata knows just when to disperse her audience to avoid unwanted attention. The spell rescinds, sending they who had gathered flocking back into the thoroughfare of public space. She collects their tribute into her pockets, art and instruments into the basket with its convenient sling for carrying.
“Let’s get some dinner to bring back to the house,” she urges Betty, who, pleasantly worn out from drumming, is languidly compliant. On the way home, new objects for their re-creations might be serendipitously discovered.
Happy children play.