My favourite part of the trip though, is when we pass a dance school. There must be a traffic light there, as we sit there for a while. I see the students in their tights and ballet slippers, bent over stretching distracted as they listen to their teacher giving the morning instructions. Looking down I catch odd glimpses in the mirror, pink tights, shoes, muscles, shoulders back necks long exuding elegance and power simultaneously. For a second I join them, I reach my breast bone to the sky, pull back my shoulders extend my arms and lift off out of the bus and dance. I pirouette, I lift my leg point my toes, I arch graceful. Then the light changes. I'm back on the bus, on the way to my desk dreams forgotten again.
Tuesday, 4 October 2011
The dance of the morning commute
I still enjoy my morning commute to work. I take the bus, so can spend the whole trip gazing out the window watching the world go by. London is a great place for people watching, especially in the mornings, where they hustle and bustle on the way to work. Through my headphones I imagine they are taking part in a dance. Walk like an Egyptian plays in my ears, and they strut, they weave, they bounce in their high heels, they groove as they themselves listen to some unknown tune in their headphones. Mad world plays, and they shake their heads, they run, they wait despair written on their faces as the bus doesn't stop.
My favourite part of the trip though, is when we pass a dance school. There must be a traffic light there, as we sit there for a while. I see the students in their tights and ballet slippers, bent over stretching distracted as they listen to their teacher giving the morning instructions. Looking down I catch odd glimpses in the mirror, pink tights, shoes, muscles, shoulders back necks long exuding elegance and power simultaneously. For a second I join them, I reach my breast bone to the sky, pull back my shoulders extend my arms and lift off out of the bus and dance. I pirouette, I lift my leg point my toes, I arch graceful. Then the light changes. I'm back on the bus, on the way to my desk dreams forgotten again.
My favourite part of the trip though, is when we pass a dance school. There must be a traffic light there, as we sit there for a while. I see the students in their tights and ballet slippers, bent over stretching distracted as they listen to their teacher giving the morning instructions. Looking down I catch odd glimpses in the mirror, pink tights, shoes, muscles, shoulders back necks long exuding elegance and power simultaneously. For a second I join them, I reach my breast bone to the sky, pull back my shoulders extend my arms and lift off out of the bus and dance. I pirouette, I lift my leg point my toes, I arch graceful. Then the light changes. I'm back on the bus, on the way to my desk dreams forgotten again.
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