As a child, my grandmother
would take me by the hand,
saying it was time
to dance among the petals,
to waltz across a meadow
kissed by a rainbow.
Barefoot, in morning dew,
I spun gold from black-eyed Susans
until I was dizzy.
I'd fall, watching the clouds
spin overhead,
my head, pillowed
on perfumed ground.
Once, in exurberation, I leaped
only to feel searing sting.
In tears, I wondered
why she hadn't warned
me about the bees.
A lesson in every adventure
my grandmother had me journey.
The unexpected can bring
rewards or pain.
Regardless, living
is always about the
willingness to dance.
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