One winter evening, I was starting a fire in the living room fireplace. I'd put music on, soulful music, when Mary suddenly danced in from the next room. She glided smoothly, but it wasn't because of her stockinged feet nor the well-buffed wood... it was she - her arms and legs, her breasts and her hips - which danced across and around the room, back and forth, suspended in air, suspended in time - not heedless of me, but regardless of me - around and back and forth, like a satyr.
If I wasn't already in love by then, I fell in love with her in that moment, when she surprised me with her dancing - she was a 51 year old mother of 3 grown children who danced like a wood sprite, a nymph - who made me want to be a puddle of melted ice water rippling at her feet, who made me as happy as I will ever be, that evening...at least. After the day's chores and travels were done...she danced for me...she danced before me...like a garlanded queen of times long gone.
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