Ah, dancing away. . . so if this the swan song kind of moment, or a plea to clean up the environmental oil slick kind of thing?
I think it has at least a double meaning for me. I'm getting a recollection as a young lad (when I lived in a cold area) of little frozen puddles that had leaves and twigs and were dark patches with woodsy bits surrounded by white ice and snow. They always fascinated me because they were fun to step into for the snap of the ice under foot and the water splashing out (also liked popping balloons with my dachshund), but also they were like little worlds unto themselves, separated by snow and dirt. During the warmer months I had discovered tadpoles and that kind of life inside the ponds and little streams, and how much life was contained therein. . . and the magic of tadpoles sprouting legs and losing their tales, and all this was going on in the puddles in my mind, in all of them. So this reminds me of that kind of eco-system.
Perhaps black swans can have that kind of activity within them waiting to come out, in dance or whatever. . . or a painting to be sure. (yes, I did see the shape of the swan. . . just created a springboard to my very young days. . .)
Nice stuff, Gary.
"Not a bit is wasted and the best is yet to come. . ." -- remembered from a dream
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