The Dance

How often do I wonder if I have any more stories? Every day. I think that’s it, I’m out of ideas. And then the idea hits me if I will only be quiet and listen. This is today’s Flash!Friday entry:

We danced under the light of the moon that first night, the music a background to our burgeoning love. It was just the two of us and our dreams. Our dance floor was the path we walked learning each other’s steps. He twirled and dipped me with the confidence of the young and hopeful.

Soon we were three. Our love changed, but still we danced. We held our son between us and rocked to Springsteen, laughing at our joy and silliness.

Then there were four. Our dances were less complicated and more open. When they were young, they danced with complete abandon. Then they matured. When it was just the four of us, we still danced holding hands, three of us taking turns to support the one who was most tired and carrying them until they regained their footing.

Four became three, then two so quick it took my breath away. They have their own dance partners. They will return and we will have our dances again, the circle bigger than we could have dreamed the night we first danced alone. For now, though, it is the two of us again, swaying a little slower under a bright moon, no less hopeful, no less dreamy.