Mountain People & Contra

   People of the mountains are among some of my favorite to watch, especially when they are dancing. Swirling on the dance floor is a strange combination of somber attitudes and energetic movements.

  Each have an unspoken unity of pride in the mountains, which belong to no man, yet claimed by all.

  Mountain women seem stern and firm, but when they swivel between the seemingly unorganized patterns of people, to the listening eye, there can be spotted a hidden joy revealed in the corners of her eyes. The prettiest thing to see is the long handmade skirts bearing earthy designs that tickle to life at the edge of a twirl.
  Time-worn, wrinkly fingers, that look fragile and frail yet feel strong and rough, grasp five tender fingers to allemande left. The kind of fingers that have seen not yet half of the years the prior had.
  On stage, the fiddle, the dulcimer, and banjo play a tone that these mountain folk have accepted as their own second heart beat. The mumble of the caller causing occasional rhythmic interruptions to the sounds of the mountain people stomping in long lines. A holler goes up as these people march back and forth. It sings of freedom, joy, and, pride.
  Everyone finishes the song with one last spinning of their partners only to applaud the musicians  for the gift of one last dance before the long, hard day of work begins again.

  It is clear to me these mountain people love their folk.

Shattered

There once was a girl as normal as you and I,
She studied and thought and played all with heart.
She looked up from her studies one day and exclaimed,
"Why haven't I seen you before? and from where have you come?
He looked at her and said, "Nowhere and no matter," with the cutest of smiles.
"But come with me now to a world full of windows and castles."
With a twinkle in his deep, wonderful eyes he reached for her hand.

Right then she sighed.

She was startled, not by touch nor by embrace,
But only the memory held in its place.
She sighed once again and put down her books,
Then stared out the window with the most longing of looks.
She saw the usual: trees and such
Then she saw an old couple, the man on a crutch.
They laughed and talked along their stroll.
To find a friend like that would surely be luck.
There's still time she thought as she pulled back her books.

Turning up the music, she laughed
Why do I worry? Why do I care?
If I am who I am, then there is nothing to fear.
What, then, is this we girls put ourselves through?
Is it not better to wait for the day before its coming?
Not to dream about him, nor dream about that,
But rather be thankful that nothing, save dreams, have shattered.


*This is a poem I wrote a couple years ago. Today I found, edited, and have (obviously) published it. I don't normally like to describe my poems, but this one begs for it. I wrote it after I realized my high school crush didn't like me back, the reality I had built up in my own mind was a fairy tale, and, that I wanted a longer-lasting relationship that that one could ever have grown into. For now, I am content to grow in my Christ-centered identity and wait for The Master of the Universe to carry out my life, whichever path that might be. Also, I am currently working on a non-love story piece (for a change, Ha!), so be on the lookout later on this month!