Monday, April 5, 2010

Voodoo


Bodies are moving separately in unison, wrapped in an infectious rhythm interpreted by feet that follow an instinctual pattern over warm, dusty earth. Songs never before heard, words in a language never spoken, come forth while arms are lifted up to the night sky. It smells of fire and power, confidence and fear. The cotton dress that once fluttered in a breeze is clinging to shiny, cinnamon skin. The drums speak to the deepest part of the soul where nothing modern has ever been and sensibility has never touched. Eyes closed in prayer to ancient Loa and relatives long passed are suddenly open, fevered and unfocused, filled with expectant hope, reflecting the dancing firelight. A quiet whimper becomes a primal howl loosed from a secret place...


1 comment:

  1. Beautiful, Amy. Your word evoke wonderful imagery and thought. ~Ms. A.

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