Beachbirds for Camera

The wind is cold and wet. Still in bed this morning, as I wrapped myself up in my blanket and looked out the window, I thought of the cold Autumns I spent in Moldova as a child. Things have been hard for Lenya since Merce Cunningham came to Bloomsburg University last weekend. The audience was horrible - laughing awkwardly when the disturbing movements and gutteral soundtrack made them nervous. Pathetic! But what did it matter to him that I was there in the audience with my heart in my throat, devastated by the forceful elegance of his dancers...he does not remember my audition seven years ago, neither him nor that awful stage manager, Svenko...I lingered outside the stage door after the performance for a while, watching a few of the dancers chat before slipping into hired cars. Then I went home and cried bitterly. Lenya is not a dancer anymore.