Heading home to the posada, I heard the sweet tune of a pennywhistle as someone guided a small group of ten or so dancers in the gloaming. “Form a circle,” he said, more polite suggestion than command, and the dancers began to flutter their arms and glide across the brick walk.
Part Renaissance Fair, part South African Kwela, the music lit something inside of me so that I thought (for a moment) I might dance in the dark, like this. Instead, I plopped down on the stairs and watched as these magnificent night birds took off and landed dozens of times. Two yellow flacos (dogs) joined me, and we watched until the dancers’ silhouettes became part of the darkness.
shewhodaresnothing 