Recently, I had the pleasure of attending a traditional Greek Dancing Night whilst on holiday on the beautiful Greek Island of Zakynthos.

In advance of the professional dancers coming out and enthralling the audience with their wonderful strength and talent and passion, my eye was drawn to a woman who was dancing in a most beautiful dress which seemed to me to contain the wind.

Its long length of golden fabric, which was cut straight, almost in the style of a loose fitting night shirt came to rest above her ankles.

Her feet moved perfectly in step with the group that she appeared to be leading, her face alight with the delight of moving, with the delight of the music and the song, with the delight of being in this, her present moment.

The light breeze found access to her dress, from the cut of it’s low back and it seemed to swoon in the pleasure of adorning this beautiful woman, and yet I don’t think she herself was aware of how lovely she looked, as I sat and watched her from my seat with a deep admiration and respect.

For me, this woman of middle-age, beautiful, assured, happy in the moment exuded outwardly what it means to be alive and to be alert to being joyful.

Even the elements which consumed her dress wanted to have some part in her delight.

I, sat in my seat, carrying my emotional wound, which responds to joy and sadness as if they were the same thing,  was mesmerized and profoundly grateful to this woman with the wind in her dress because her movement and her beauty and her joy warmed my heart and soothed my hidden hurting depths.

My next blog will be: It Was My Time To Speak

William Defoe