Dancing While Seated

It's not the feet that step, but the soul that sets sail. His body rests still on a wooden chair that creaks softly, yet inside his chest, the drums of Flores are thundering. His shoulders rise and fall like small waves, his fingers paint the wind, his head nods to a prayer no one else can hear. He dances without having to go anywhere. Like coffee swirling in a cup when stirred, like incense smoke dancing before vanishing into the roof. His sitting is the root, his dancing is the wind. The root holds tight to the earth, but the wind is free to tell stories about the sky. It is not laziness, it is freedom. When the body can no longer run, the heart still knows how to dance. #amerika #jerman #prancis