A Night At the Village Square
A Night at The Village Square
Music is drifting out into the warm night air.
And crowds gather in thick circles of humanity,
Turning perfect concentric rings around the stage.
Ballroom style dancers are floating in tandem,
While multiplying line dancers spread long lines.
There’s a group of dancers in lighted bounce shoes,
And the wispy movements of a lone ballerina,
As she glides gracefully through the sea of bodies.
Tonight, my world is a metronome of movement,
Marking time to a perfect, succinct bass rhythm,
While all the nights’ people follow the distant hum.
Overflowing restaurants are brimming their seams,
While the murmurous muffled sounds of life escape
And mingle before melting into the muted din of night.
Golf carts are everywhere, adorned with blinking lights,
And trinkets and signs, and anything you can imagine.
There are coolers and chairs and unending comradery,
New traditions to be lived, and old lived again,
Everyone finding something familiar in the crowd,
As children dart about in awkward bursts of innocence.
Soon, the fading light gives in to a purple black sky,
Adorned with brilliant stars to elaborate for words.
Below this canopy, are generations of then and now,
Converging here in some finger lakes of spirits,
Melding into one singular unifying pulse of life,
Tonight, and nightly, and always, and forever.
Copyright ©
Thomas Bruce
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