The broken shards lie upon the ground and crunch beneath her toes as she walks carefully across the floor. The broom is on the other side of the room. Between her and the means to clean up is a field of glass pieces. She carefully places each of her feet. At times standing flat footed and at another on the very tips of her toes. She had been dancing when it had broken. A hand flung a little too wide as she spun around the room. She hadn’t known it was there. Now she does. As she picks her way through the danger zone, she starts to dance a new dance. A slow one. One with careful footwork and arms out for balance and grace. She has been dancing in the same way. Always spinning when the music tells her to. Now, now she is dancing without music, without thought, without effort. Dancing across the room to the broom, she grasps the handle and swings it around in a large arc. The tinkling of glass can be heard as bristles rasp against the linoleum. A song bursts forth though she doesn’t know where she has heard it before. It rises out of her, filling the emptiness. Filling it with a song that’s been locked away. She can sing it now for the glass on the floor has set it free.
Scribe's Canvas
a place for a little bit of everything
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