The Dancing Grandmothers
So here’s where my thoughts go in the middle of the night. I’m thinking I need something unusual for my current Work In Progress. It’s the fantasy about the ninth son of the ninth son and the so on.
So where will their quest lead them? Up in the hills of course. To an old abandoned village near the cliffs. White stone crumbling buildings are all that remain, and the dry fountain in the village square. It’s here, once a year, that the dancing grandmothers come.
The Dancing Grandmothers
Dance with joy, for all that I’ve seen;
Bend with loss, for what might’ve been;
Reach for the sky, and let longing prayers fly,
For the children, Dear God, and I.
Now reach for friends, our fingers interlace;
Circle wide and come near, winding fears we all face;
Rise up to our toes, graceful girls still within;
We’re the old ones, who’ve earned all our dreams.