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To Ruth Latta's previous piece
Country Dance Play "The Flower of Sweet Straban," and they dance for me again -- those couples of long ago. They step, pause, twirl, acknowledge each other in grace to a song which treasures the moment and honours the past. Flute and fiddle echo in green hills where colts run free. Violins speak in the voices of those who are gone, murmuring approval from the sidelines as the young ones float past. My arms reach out to imagined-you and here on the basement floor my feet move in rapture.
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