Oh, To Be Free
A toddler in an oversized baseball hat bends his knees and jumps, shooting joy through his arms into the cloudless blue sky. He bends and jumps, bends and jumps. A girl in a green dress covered in handsome foxes spins, her long auburn pigtails chasing each other like a dog after his tail. Three tow-headed children with pink iridescent butterfly wings weave through the royal purple delphiniums and fluffy white peonies. The yellow Tiger Swallowtails and red-disked alpine butterflies absorb the sparkly energy and carry it to the stage, flying through the collection of shiny steel drums, whose players smile and bob their heads as joy travels down through the sticks in their hands.
“It’s wonderful to have such enthusiasm in the first row!”’, the leader says into the microphone.
The calypso beat follows the wings of the butterflies past the tiny dancers to the adults, who sit in camp chairs behind picnic baskets emptied onto the prickly grass. A toe is tapped here, a shoulder shimmied there, a bite of crackers and cheese here, a nibble of a sandwich there.
“And for our final song tonight, a reminder that July in Alaska is really a cause for celebration. Also, just a heads-up that Music in the Garden is a family event and drinking alcohol is not permitted.”
“And that’s why no one over ten is dancing,” a middle-aged woman in a protective sun shirt smirks to her husband, whose eyes remain on the tablet before him, fingers scrolling down a lengthy email.
“Oh, to feel young and free,” the woman sighs.
The man grimaces into his tablet.
A balding gentleman with a volunteer t-shirt covering a subtly stooped back pauses at the seat of a trim and tanned woman with brilliant white hair. He sets down his donation watering can and holds out his sun-spotted hand.
“Would you care to dance?”
The woman pushes to her feet and asks, “Do you salsa?” as her hips begin to creak forward and back, forward and back. The volunteer joins her, their steps a tad behind the beat as they crow along with the tinny drums, “Celebration time! Come on!”
“Oh, to be old and free,” the man mumbles to his tablet.
His wife touches the wrinkles on her forehead and frowns.
The yellow and red butterflies flit between them, offering the joy of the tiny dancers, the steel drums, the off-kilter salsa, and a glowing summer night among the sunflowers, lupine and shooting stars.
