Dancer Beware

It was a Seventy-mile-an-hour dance on I-25, weaving through Denver. Rain slicked, quasi white-knuckled driving, twisting curves, grey skies, and the Taxi-Cab!

Ft. Collins to Santa Fe, six and a half hours away. Denver almost
spoiled the day. Keep two seconds between, a rule of thumb, a common courtesy. Seventy-miles-an-hour like packed sardines, we danced cheekily....

Eyes on the road, wide depth of view, narrow spaces. Focusing,
the road unwound, carrying the entanglement in perpetual motion.
Then the streaking yellow, like a grand ballroom entrance, indeed,
decked in bright flashy attire. Eager to dance! The voracity was that of great fervor.

Amused, intuitive, and continuing my desired dance. Depth of field grew wider, it was a reckless approach to the forefront, flashes of yellow, dancing through the crowd. The syncopation was off. The tempo ignored, the dance went on. The yellow streak inched forward, fleeting, the ensemble now distorted.

Keep my pace, contemplate my step, remain poised. I want to dance all the way home. The streak had my lane, increasing the unwilling tempo, with scant maneuverability. Recklessly engaged, among the ensemble.

The tune never ended, it is perpetual after all. The ensemble could only watch, as the yellow streak would finish its dance. The departure was even more grandiose than the expeditious arrival. The tempo of the streak now altered, and in a flash would become quiescent.

The streak weaved through the choreography with incredible timing. Each member of the affected ensemble were left to destiny as the streak made wild pirouettes across the floor. The relationship kept its distance, miraculously. The streak rested, sitting backwards, to the side of the floor.

The dance continued. I'm home!



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