Dance

The dancing trees — one young, sturdy, and strong with life; the other old, bare, and proud, even in death. Life and death, locked in an embrace. Life and death, joined in step.

I’m not a dancer. Shocking, I know. Yet here I am, forced to dance with death in my life. I didn’t sign up for this dance and the lessons have been brief and harsh. Modeling is priceless, but I hate asking people to show me the steps to this dance. I should be able to figure it out. Others have.

I’ve tried. I continue to try.

There are countless books and many pro tips on mastering this dance. Mostly, the books and tips are confusing and ineffective; even after reading, I stumble, step on toes, fall. I suffer injuries. I always thought dance was graceful. Dignified. Control embodied. Well, I am not a natural mover — not a dancer.

Perhaps if I could focus on one type of dance for a while; I would at least have a chance at mastery. Instead, the dances change without warning and in no predictable order. DJ Life can be a real jerk, switching up the music, switching up the moves. DJ Life doesn’t always have the decency to wait until the end of the song. Instead, I find myself thrown from a waltz to tap to hip hop and struggle to find my steps. Mostly, I fake it with the Moonwalk, dancing an illusion.

So many dances, and I am master of none.

This idea of life and death dancing together . . .

It is an idea born of both nature and necessity. In each fence row, life and death coexist, often with breathtaking beauty. They must; the world keeps turning. Trees and sons and brothers, grandsons and nephews and cousins — they die while others live, and the world keeps turning. So, we dance or pretend to dance. We move through our days trying to keep up, to match the music, to find our rhythm. Often, we fail.

I long for the beauty, the natural composure of the dancing trees. I want to stand in my fence row — gracefully, unconcerned by shed bark — life and death both represented. It’s not possible to leave one or the other behind, nor would I want to; both are part of my moment-to-moment reality. I didn’t choose my dance, but until the end of my days, I’ll be learning the steps, locked in an embrace of life carrying death.