Charlotte's Calling

Charlotte’s calling.

Calling me back onto the dance floor.

Oh how can I resist that call?

Standing in the shadows, the doubts creep in; can I dance with her again?

It might be summer, but the cool wind is blowing, as it always is, stiffening the joints, weakening the resolve, dissipating the vitality.

Without thinking, I begin the ritual, escaping again the enduring question of who I would be, were I not to heed the call.

The first click – ready; the second click – go. Starting slowly, a touch unsteady, I make my way towards her; Charlotte stands her ground as the suitors dance around her.

Others have heard her call, many moving more speedily, anxious to prove their worth, carrying the youthful belief that vigour trumps vitality.

I move to my own rhythm, allowing the more nimble to glide past, the shoulders dipping and swaying to an unheard tune.

To the shufflers, steadfast to the call, stepping to a slowing beat, I remain humble, rolling past respectfully.

Onlookers, they are a mixed bunch; a nod from those that have heard their own call, bemusement from those that haven’t.

I arrive before her; chest heaving, heart thumping – weak at the knees. Oh Charlotte, you’ve done it to me again.

Dancing with Charlotte is a challenge, a test that never changes, but becomes sterner each year.

Exhilaration tapers to contentment as I turn and roll away.

Charlottes calling – are you listening, can you hear her?