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DANCE OF THE SUN // LA DANSE DU SOLEIL
7:53 a.m. the stairs wince as our soles trample down the gray, faded carpet.
we are in a rush, as always— no time for scattered fragments of sun and light and joy before our day begins.
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the sun, however, has different plans for us. unabashed, she catches our eye as we reach the threshold.
stay, she murmurs, as she pours her sweet milk into the kitchen, beckoning us.
her shimmering limbs dance across the floor, ripple off the sink, sway through cast iron,
and hug a tender, golden loaf resting on the table. sit, she tells us. we are entranced as she offers us bread.
la mie, encore chaude, fond sur nos langues la croûte, légèrement farinée, croustille entre nos dents.
en fermant les paupières nous savourons cet instant ensoleillé, doré, équilibré, infime et infini.
opening our eyes, we thank the sun for holding time still she winks before eclipsing herself behind a gauzy cloud.
we resume our day, yet, at the corner of our mouths, remain faint traces of smiles and a touch of flour.
By Aliénor Rice
