The Dance

My lovely daughter, the amazing Miss Emma Jayne, was born with music in her soul and movement in her heart. Already at the tender age of 17 months she is a dancer.

Her tiny body is constantly pulsating with rhythm and vibrating with melody. She whiles her days away seeking plastic toys that house her favorite harmonies, and, once found, plays them endlessly while her body moves to their song.

She is not without artistic discretion mind you. Sometimes she will push the magic button of her faux jukebox, cock her head to the side, and listen intently for the briefest of moments, deciding whether the song is worthy of her dance. On those days she will sift through their plastic menus obsessively, searching for the exact sounds that match her dance.

Other days she twists her body to and fro, back and forth, and swings her arms about to the slightest hint of music...the shrill sound of my voice trying to sing for her, the masculine sound of her father's words falling around her, even the sound of the wind whispering or raindrops pounding against our window pane.

Somedays she dances in silence, the only noise is the fluidity of her motion. Those days I believe she is dancing to the music in her very soul, dancing to what only she can hear. After watching her dance for a while, I begin to believe I can hear her song too and it's depth always surprises me.

I have never seen anything like it, this desperate need to dance. I myself danced for years, but not like that. My dance was controlled and directed, always with purpose. Emma's dance is that of a free spirit, and the dance itself is always all the purpose she needs to begin her next set of gyrations. She owns the dance and it is in every way as unique and special as she is. It is the ultimate expression of her very essence, Emma Jayne in movement.

She is the star of her own ballet every day as she orchestrates music and choreographs the matching motion, always with perfect execution. Her eyes become glazed with focus when she becomes the infamous ballerina as she loses herself in her dance. She becomes the dance.

I've never seen anything like it.

She isn't even walking yet.

When she is all grown, I will be able to tell her with so much admiration that she danced before she walked.

Until then I will simply watch with adoration and love; always trying to hear the music, always trying to share in the dance.