Dance

  She picked up the outside edges of her crimson skirt. The white ruffled edging felt rough and stiff in her hands. Slowly and deliberately she shuffled onto the dance floor. Stiff black leather heels encased her  warm and ready feet. This was the long awaited moment when she would bring fruition to her hours of practice. Enrico's firm fingers strummed the downbeat. A hush fell over the hot, humid room.

She couldn't lift her eyes. No, not yet. 

Oil on board by Pam Ingalls

   Holding one more second, she looked timidly out into the crowd. Her breath lodged and refused to exhale. The truth washed over her unexpectedly. 

         She was more beautiful than she ever believed.

I write on Fridays with a large group who inspire me. Only five minutes and without much thought to perfection. I write, prompted by one word that sends my thoughts to the keyboard and hopefully make sense.

This is a post that is part of a series entitled, "Pictures and Paragraphs". See an index of these posts here.