Into the fog
Treading isn’t easy. Though nobody sees it the floor is made out of wood. Boards have been stepped upon, and walked on, and time was merciless to the material. It has become fray. Wood is fractured, it split and cracked. Nail-heads got exposed. Golden dancer treads carefully, she is barefoot. Treading isn’t easy but it is driven. She goes right into the fog and to the center of the stage to perform a breathtaking dance. Oh, that actually already happened before. She was smiling and dancing, jumping and twirling. She already drank warm coffee and hot tea, snapped a cherry tomato or two, maybe even a grape (green ones were sweet and reminded of late summer). She talked frantically and then she was contemplative and thoughtful, for waiting we were and waiting for a long time. A whole day went by and we were shooting and filming in the tender heart of winter. And later going our separate ways in the freezing breath of the night.