wizzingfeetbright

Originally uploaded by gumbootspearlz.

It was movement class that inspired one of my very first poems. We danced and moved to a drum beat. We also imagined we were spinning seeds falling to the ground.  After class I held a seed in my hand that had a wing and as I dropped it, it spun and spun like a helicopter until it landed.

Movement became words and words became the poem. My movement teacher became ill with cancer. I have a vague recollection of going to visit her. She was still not moving. Her smile moved across her face and reminded me of her calling out to us, “move to the beat”- “faster”, “Slower”, she asked “are you happy, are you sad”.

Now I take my children to movement. Of course it’s not the same teacher she is long gone. I am amazed at the confidence building in them. My daughter grooves all over the house. The two younger children who attend the class perform a puppet show at school. They are comfortable with movement, voice, being in front of an audience.   They are birds, water and next lesson the woods?

Their feet wizz brightly with purpose.