It starts with a leg drama.  It goes to the floor and crawls back up the windows. . . for now.  Because of a  constant  feeling  of emergency, hands up and kiss me tight, for the drum, for the trance to arrive  in  the  body,  to make it baby to our final destination. “Because  we  know  we  shall  not know the one veritable transitory power”…  we  dance  on  an  Owl’s Lullaby that Father’s  sing   where  we come from.  It’s  a   sad  song  but  it’s  mostly  purifying,   because   of the  Fire.  Because  of  the  fire  we raise our voice.   We   are  the  children,  we  are  the   dancers ,  no  we   are   the soldiers,  we  are  of  Music  and Poetry,   we  are  of  the  Great  Lakes  of Canada  and  of  the  Mountains of  Slovakia  heading  into  the unknown. . .