The Ballerina

Within this home live many people. Each, other then physical characteristics are more or less just like one another. They come from many walks of life. All live in this small nursing home. Is there even one within these walls that could hear or recognize ‘the Ballerina’?

Her aged body sags in the chair she sits in. It is a clumsy soft-seated plastic fabric chair. It sits on wheels that go nowhere, but where the controller of wheelchairs wishes it to travel. Her eyes are dull. Her cheeks have collapsed upon the bones within. Her breath is shallow. Her chin is almost flush against the very top of her chest.

Strands of faded gray hair fall forward. Soon she is sound asleep. Eyes of visitors within this place mentally snap her picture as they pass by. Silently their mind processes the thought of her existence and they think “Too bad. Too bad!"

Within the protective shell of old age, and invisible to them who will not see, springs forth in sleep from her, a youthful life. The sleeping old woman is now a dancer free from the lonely hours within this ‘home’. He hair is now in long silver silken curls, glowing and pulled up with a comb upon the crown of her head. It is a crown of glory that frames her face.

Her eyes are large and bright. They are wakeful. Her mouth appears innocent yet at the same time mischievous. It is open with a smile for all. Her chin thrusts forward in pride. She looks at what she perceives as her destiny, full in the face. She knows she is born to this life.

Her arms fill with strength once again. Yet they are gentle by command when the need is there. Her body is willowy and firm. She breaks into a ballerina’s stance, offering her arms to an invisible lover. Not unlike a gazelle she leaps, leaps and then leaps again. Her soul pours out in joy with these movements from her heart.

The music only she can hear is like an aura to her dance. The applause of the standing audience fills her ears. Exhausted now she must return, and once more leave behind her youth. She will dance again~~perhaps tomorrow. Her aged body sags. Faded strands of hair fall across her face. No one knows she has just finished one of her finest performances and once more known the joy of youth.

Painting from the collection of Tom Sierak. Please visit his gallery by clicking below.