This is a short, non-furry piece I wrote during a writing exercise at the Hemingway-Pfeiffer Museum and Education Center's fall creative writer's retreat this past November. I think it's quite nice. :)


Center Stage

One winter morning, a performer takes the floor. A twist of his master’s wrist and on his head he goes, seemingly forever he spins in place. As if by magic, he appears to levitate above the cold sidewalk that is his stage. He doesn’t perform to please a crowd, but only an audience of one. Young eyes watch him, a boy never tiring of the steady, whirling rhythm. A more sophisticated audience might prefer flashing lights and a melody to boot, but a simple merry-go-round dance is delight enough to a child with so little to his name.

Passersby pay no attention to this quiet magic at their feet, as sitting nearby, a father asks them for their pity, to give a coin or two so the he and his son may eat. For now at least the boy can leave the harsh world behind, lost in the joy of a concert for his eyes alone.