Friday

Balanchine




Small winds rise from the heat of the meadow onto the bottoms of the maple leaves and raises them as far as they can without going much of anywhere.  The smallest of flutter keeps them trembling at the outermost reach of each leaf's holding stem. Too small a wind to move the stem or sway the branch, it is the only wind in the valley today.  I don't know this one's name.  A thermal wind?  An extremely specialized meadow-to-leaf-dance-master wind?

Balanchine?  That is it...the most delicate of winds...a Balanchine.