Visited by a dance

HEARING the doorbell ring, I realized I had dozed off while reading the evening paper. I thought my wife was answering the door until I glanced through my den window and saw her in the backyard. I hurried to the door and peered through the peephole to examine the caller. However, he had already turned away, evidently thinking no one was home. Though unable to see his face, I watched a little boy not more than six years old. His lithe body swayed from side to side in rhythmic movements as he moved smoothly across the lawn.

What I witnessed held me transfixed in wonderment, for I had never seen such a joyful dance. It seemed to be a spontaneous creation, executed as though the dancer had not a care in the world. With arms raised high and turned to the right, he leaned his head in the same direction while standing on one leg. Then he made a complete reversal of movements, repeating the performance until he disappeared. The slow, unbroken rhythm, without song or music, was natural and graceful.

I turned from the door when I heard my wife ask, ``Hello? Are you frozen there?''

Surprised and somewhat embarrassed, I shook off the trance to say, ``I have just been entertained by a most beautiful dance.''

Long before our retirement we gave up dancing, a fine art for which we had no gift.

``You must tell me all about it,'' she replied, jokingly.

And so I did -- even demonstrating an imitation of the dance. However, my somewhat awkward motions lacked the appropriate grace. When I fell against the wall, she could no longer restrain her laughter.

``Shall I turn on the radio and find you some music?'' she wanted to know. I decided to become a partner in the levity, ``No, my dear. Don't you know that unheard music is sweeter?''

She resisted being put down, ``Like music of the spheres which poets try to hear?''

Nevertheless, I continued my swaying and reaching act without noticeable improvement.

Then, out of the blue, with a straight face, she exclaimed, ``I think I'll try that!''

She danced gracefully, like a professional, I thought.

``Now what is the name of this new dance?'' she asked.

``Why, it's called `Little Boy Dancing' as far as I know.''

We never learned why our visitor had rung the doorbell. Perhaps it was simply to brighten our day.

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