Dancers

Tall stone, fixed in a garish pas-de-deux

fourteen weathered blocks, and

one other.

A dancing master? A luckless spectator

or a sad

fiddler making for home when the Sabbath

hour was struck? Legend says

a second fiddler

appears, just as the first

puts down his bow. The newcomer,

a better player by far, driving

dancers even faster, in a manic

reel, feet breaking earth. Ankle deep.

 

A dark fellow in a

dark hat. . .

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