Sometimes everyone moves around her while she remains still.
Sometimes she stands within this tornado of life, rising with the breath of the wind…
Yet she is still.
Like a solid block of ice under the weight of the sun, refusing to melt, refusing to disappear and be forgotten.
She takes in the scene.
She studies the view.
The others rotate above her with wind in their hair and compassion in their eyes.
They move at the same pace with the same perceived intention.
And they circle over her head like the clouds.
Looking down but spiraling up, this tornado… of life.
Yes, LOTS of life.
Is this what it’s like to be loved? the girl asks
Being watched and cared for by strangers?
Not being able to move, just standing, receiving?
She hears music in their movement and her heart feels light.
The floaters- they just smile and laugh.
A man with a white, braided beard, with sunglasses and large feet.
A small African girl who wears yellow and smiles without apology.
A man with a tie and slacks and blonde hair.
A red-headed woman with a pony tail and pink finger nail polish.
They spin in a choreographed dance, an unbreakable pattern.
A common language but no interpreter.
Frozen in this mysterious whirl of wonder, the girl watches.
Frozen in time, thought, breath.