Dancing to a Different Tune
by Denis Doran
Stand on a crack break your back stand on a line break your spine…
A solitary figure on a deserted promenade. Head inclined, hand covering his right ear, he stares intently at the pavement, listening to sounds I cannot hear.
He shivers, starts, steps forward, hesitates, carries on his slow journey from one paving stone to another. I’m captivated by his uncertainty, by movements continually arrested, interrupted. Fascinated by the halting manner of his progress.
He stops, head down, treading the ground, and then begins to dance across the pavement towards the railings, towards the sea, moving effortlessly from pink paving stone to pink paving stone, always seeming to search for the lighter shade, the unbroken surface.
Halts, in doubt about where to step next, because the pink is no longer there, has been replaced by more sombre shades and he doesn’t know what to do. I feel for him, want him to carry on, wonder why there’s a dearth of pink. And then I think that maybe I’ve been watching him too long, that the rain’s set in and I’m getting wet, that I need to walk away.
I look back to see him motionless, stranded on this wet promenade, and wonder how long he’ll wait, watch, listen.