As the wave rolls in, breathe with me. Copy my movements, and this dance shall begin. Bold, dramatic gestures with your arms, and with your feet, draw on the sand, wild exaggerated lines and swirls, call the tide in with me. Emphasize the freedom of the sea, and be free with me! Come, now we break away, and each dance on our own, almost fighting, almost kissing, lovely, strange, wild, free as the sea. Finally, stand still. The tide has not been called yet. There is more to do here. Close your eyes and exhale as, for once in its years, the sea is calm as glass. Then inhale and slowly gaze out, across the deep, and spring into motion once more. Quickly, draw on the sand with your dance, until the picture starts to emerge. Now, let us stop, watch the tide rise as the sirens call and the sailors dance to our own tune. It is me against you, now. Who will win the favor of the sea? Float free, and I shall complete the next move of your dance until you finally figure out how to dance on your own. Oh, this is truly the start. Leap high, clap your hands, we will never stop. Bend low, spring back, call imperiously for a halt that you don’t need and know will never come. Hands behind your back, what are you hiding from me? First tiptoe on one foot, then twirl to the other. Bend and bow, catch your arm in mine, and circle each other, hands locked, until I count three and we dance away once again, only to reengage this charming battle. Swing your arms, sailor, and I shall dance with the grace of the kelp fronds. Try to bend with the current, and I am as strong as the polar ice caps. Feel the wooden planks beneath you, and I am the sea, carrying you away. Dance with the waves, and I am the wind, sweeping along above you. We are friends too close to be companions: we are enemies, dancing for the favor of the sea, and only one of us can win. You may keep her warm and ice free for most of the time, but it is I, not you, who call the tides. My friend, the sun, you are warm and forgiving, but I am the moon, and the sea will follow me. The sea has no choice, but to follow me: for I am the Master of Tides.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Master of Tides
This song captivated me. It's called "Master of Tides," by stunning violinist Lindsey Stirling.
And here's my own kind of fanart for it.
As the wave rolls in, breathe with me. Copy my movements, and this dance shall begin. Bold, dramatic gestures with your arms, and with your feet, draw on the sand, wild exaggerated lines and swirls, call the tide in with me. Emphasize the freedom of the sea, and be free with me! Come, now we break away, and each dance on our own, almost fighting, almost kissing, lovely, strange, wild, free as the sea. Finally, stand still. The tide has not been called yet. There is more to do here. Close your eyes and exhale as, for once in its years, the sea is calm as glass. Then inhale and slowly gaze out, across the deep, and spring into motion once more. Quickly, draw on the sand with your dance, until the picture starts to emerge. Now, let us stop, watch the tide rise as the sirens call and the sailors dance to our own tune. It is me against you, now. Who will win the favor of the sea? Float free, and I shall complete the next move of your dance until you finally figure out how to dance on your own. Oh, this is truly the start. Leap high, clap your hands, we will never stop. Bend low, spring back, call imperiously for a halt that you don’t need and know will never come. Hands behind your back, what are you hiding from me? First tiptoe on one foot, then twirl to the other. Bend and bow, catch your arm in mine, and circle each other, hands locked, until I count three and we dance away once again, only to reengage this charming battle. Swing your arms, sailor, and I shall dance with the grace of the kelp fronds. Try to bend with the current, and I am as strong as the polar ice caps. Feel the wooden planks beneath you, and I am the sea, carrying you away. Dance with the waves, and I am the wind, sweeping along above you. We are friends too close to be companions: we are enemies, dancing for the favor of the sea, and only one of us can win. You may keep her warm and ice free for most of the time, but it is I, not you, who call the tides. My friend, the sun, you are warm and forgiving, but I am the moon, and the sea will follow me. The sea has no choice, but to follow me: for I am the Master of Tides.
As the wave rolls in, breathe with me. Copy my movements, and this dance shall begin. Bold, dramatic gestures with your arms, and with your feet, draw on the sand, wild exaggerated lines and swirls, call the tide in with me. Emphasize the freedom of the sea, and be free with me! Come, now we break away, and each dance on our own, almost fighting, almost kissing, lovely, strange, wild, free as the sea. Finally, stand still. The tide has not been called yet. There is more to do here. Close your eyes and exhale as, for once in its years, the sea is calm as glass. Then inhale and slowly gaze out, across the deep, and spring into motion once more. Quickly, draw on the sand with your dance, until the picture starts to emerge. Now, let us stop, watch the tide rise as the sirens call and the sailors dance to our own tune. It is me against you, now. Who will win the favor of the sea? Float free, and I shall complete the next move of your dance until you finally figure out how to dance on your own. Oh, this is truly the start. Leap high, clap your hands, we will never stop. Bend low, spring back, call imperiously for a halt that you don’t need and know will never come. Hands behind your back, what are you hiding from me? First tiptoe on one foot, then twirl to the other. Bend and bow, catch your arm in mine, and circle each other, hands locked, until I count three and we dance away once again, only to reengage this charming battle. Swing your arms, sailor, and I shall dance with the grace of the kelp fronds. Try to bend with the current, and I am as strong as the polar ice caps. Feel the wooden planks beneath you, and I am the sea, carrying you away. Dance with the waves, and I am the wind, sweeping along above you. We are friends too close to be companions: we are enemies, dancing for the favor of the sea, and only one of us can win. You may keep her warm and ice free for most of the time, but it is I, not you, who call the tides. My friend, the sun, you are warm and forgiving, but I am the moon, and the sea will follow me. The sea has no choice, but to follow me: for I am the Master of Tides.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment