She awoke to the sound of spring rain pitter pattering on her window panes. She stretched her young lithe body until one by one her muscles came alive from her long winter hibernation. She rose.
She could feel the beating of the earth through her naked feet as she walked across the room, she showered under a waterfall of clean snow melting in the heat of the early morning sun. Invigorated by the coldness of the water she dressed.
Her gown, woven from the silken webs spun by the spiders resting in her garden, decorated with the blades of newly mown grass, the many layers of ruffles reminiscent of flower petals newly opening in the warmth of the spring sunshine.
She bent to place night dark shoes on her feet, fastening them with pearls brought up from the ocean bed by fingers like tendrils of sea mist.
She felt the beat of the music rising from the earth and felt her body respond.
She swayed to a sound only she could hear, like the ebbing and flowing of great oceans. She was ready, her feet began to move beneath her.
Dancing gracefully to her door and she left her home to the breeze of the outside world. She stumbled a little as she left her house, still unaccustomed to the rhythms in the air, she was caught by the breeze until she once again was able to stand alone. Her arms flung wide she twirled and swirled laughing to the sky and her dance to the seasons once more began.
Over meadows and hills she dances, pirouetting to the beat of the hearts of the many animals hidden from view, swirling and whirling compelling birds large and small to take flight, the small mammals leaving their winter homes for the first time twitter in agitation lest she step on them whilst she danced. But her feet led her surely on, hurting nothing in their wake.
She danced up mountains, her shoes tapping and ticking over the stones on her way, given strength by the winds rising up from the valleys she dances to the memory of dragons and giants hiding in these mountains fearing discovery from those who would cause them to vanish becoming non-existent forgotten through the ages. She reaches the top, and almost, flying she soars down towards the sea as if an angel had given her wings.
She dances over oceans, her feet splashing and spattering over the water, twirling and whirling, the spray of the sea leaving her dry, she feels the movement of the fish, the dolphins, the sharks and the whales, and they cavort with her, leaping and twisting in the water, their dance tells her of the strange things floating in the oceans, things that do not dance and have no beat, she listens in sorrow to these chronicles until her dance once more touches the land.
Before her is a war torn place, a land fed by blood and pain, she pauses in her dance, scarcely swaying to the beat of the earth, and she bows her head in silent tribute to those who have died, given their lives for a cause she does not know. Beneath her feet she feels new stirrings of seeds below the surface of the earth, impartial to the blood of human lives lost but not wasted. The blades of grass, the flowers and trees will continue to sing, unheard, of the people who have died and they will live forever in this voiceless melody. Her dance resumes with vigour this time, she has stopped long enough to honour the dead, now she must show her respect to the living.
Through farms and villages, towns and cities she dances, past people who cannot see her, but as she passes her gown gently touches their lives, and they feel the deepening of the seasons, they softly sway to a rhythm they do not hear, her passing lies soft upon the people and their beating hearts add to the dance and give wings to her feet.
She comes upon an old and immense forest, feeling the heart beats of the myriad birds and animals who have made the trees their home for millennia. The beat of this ancient place is familiar to her, the strength of this place once raised her to dance above the green and vast canopy and the birds in their own way have danced with her, she still dances to their beat but feels the diminishing sounds in her heart. her dance is one of melancholia but her passing gives a joy to the place that is sad.
She arrives on the edge of a vast desert, hot and lifeless, but she feels the pulse of these desolate tracts, the shifting sands dancing to their own windblown rhythms. These gusts lift her high above the burning land and carry her across safely, dancing as if on nothing she continues her skipping and frolicking to the sands beat until she comes to rest by the snow covered mountains and she knows she is home.
Tired and with a sadness never felt before she waltzes to her home and under a blanket of fresh falling snow the dancer stops and in her bed she sleeps until the spring once again comes pitter pattering on her window pane.