summer in the city

i remain convinced that everyone wants to be a dancer, or at the very least, feels that pull at one time to be physically so beautiful, so enchanting, strong, liquid. to be at once as ethereal and otherworldly as they are defined by blood, muscle, breath. 

i stayed in portland with my dad the other weekend, and on our walk he insisted we peek inside a tent erected just inside the park near his appartment. the nondescript, white, and totally uninteresting tent. 

and then i heard Tchaikovsky. 

i love portland. the oregon ballet theater has had its ups and downs. 

but i love portland, and i love the ballet, and i sat with my father on a beautiful portland summer saturday

for what seemed like centuries. 

obt exposed. http://www.obt.org/outreach_events_exposed.html

i sat in the cool spot of sun and watched them at the barre, and then run through

the finale of swan lake. 

i sat there with my father and smiled and sighed and we both cried like we always do

when he takes me to the ballet

she has the most impeccable sense of timing, and asked me just last week

what i would do, have as a career, if i could do anything

 i blushed a little and smiled: 

"i want to be a ballerina."

i know that not everyone wants to be a ballerina, but i do feel like maybe, 

everyone wants to feel the power in their bodies and to move