Dance of the Eleusians

His blue limbs gleamed coolly in the hot air, they arched and flexed with unhurried grace. He spun sinuously in the air, catching the light of the sun in his hair. His was the only movement in the circle of watchers.

Now another joined him in the middle. His skin was dark red, his physique compact, contained. His movements made her think of what he didn’t do, turns he didn’t make, and leaps that existed only in his eyes. Finally, a third Eleusian joined the dance, this one bright yellow, jumping furiously on the spot, like the flickering flame of a candle. They were pure colors that never mixed, cold jewels that tumbled separately. They deflected each others movements, and only the impersonal thread of the flute-like instrument a fourth played held them even in the same space.

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Published by

Anya Wassenberg

Freelance writer & singer