The body as dancer is a stem, a stalk with tendrils, no one more intelligent than any other. You warm up the plant's sap, bend with the breeze, against, stretch this way, that, flex and reach, to earth to sun, to tree and lake, among animals. In autumn, you let your green fade, fold up some.
Excerpt from Dancer Out of Sight,
The Collected Writings of Douglas Dunn