Ballerina

Motionless, she rests. Head dipped, limbs poised.
A metal butterfly. 

The stick falls. A melody sparks.

Her heart ignites.

The flame caresses, flickering upward. Tantalising. Pure charm.

Radiating, melting, bubbling... An orb of molten lava.

The music burns brighter. Hypnotising. The notes white hot, their call irresistible. Wicked seduction.

She is an arched bow. A crouching lioness.

The blaze crackles and the night explodes.

Release.

A quiver of tulle, a flash of lace, she bursts free at last. Raw power. Excruciating poise.

An arm arches, her head dips. A leg kicks, her waist folds.

A seed on fire. Insatiable. 

She is hunger and thirst, need and desire.

The song erupts. Enthralling, consuming, a dancing inferno. Wild harmonies swirling. Fiery dragons intertwine.

Her body raw from the clawing within, she soars.
Wings of power and grace. All syrup and steel.

She transcends, human needs forgotten. Nymph. Angel. Goddess.

Time, ephemeral. Beauty, eternal.

Slowly, the flames begin their retreat. A gradual diminuendo.

She is the dying sun, the last ruby rays before dusk.

The final note relinquishes its spark. It falls to the cinders...

She comes to rest. The crescent moon in a velvet sky.

...and all is silent once more.

Serenity. Perfection.

A Taste of Beauty

I have finally finished my homework, put my washing in the dryer, and made myself a steaming cup of chai tea with honey. Now, where do I begin?

It has been ten days since I landed on Swiss soil. Jet lag? A little. Snow? Not yet. New friends? Many. Chocolate? A lot!

For the first three weeks, I am taking the Cours de Vacances – an intensive winter language course – at the University of Lausanne (more affectionately known as l’Unil). Along with hundreds of other students, young and old, from Brazil to Korea and Russia to South Africa, I am diving beanie-first into the nuances and intricacies of the French language.

Living in a French-speaking environment has its advantages...and also its difficulties. Sure, it’s exhilarating and confidence-boosting to be able to ask for (and comprehend) directions from a policeman in French. And I love leisurely surfing the French channels on TV. But at the same time, asking the cashier to repeat the sum slowly while rummaging through foreign coins doesn’t make me very popular with local customers!

A few things I have already grown to love about Switzerland?

The precision (unsurprisingly). It is not a stereotype; it is a fact. A bus is “late” if it arrives two minutes behind schedule. No need to fear frostbite here! 

The chocolate. It’s true, even the Swiss “Black & Gold” equivalent is better than Cadbury’s...and much cheaper. Great news for my taste buds, but not so good for my weight!

And the signs. On bus stops, in front of shops, by the road, on top of buildings... In fact, my new favourite pastime on the bus and metro is trying to read every sign we pass. No, not simply reading – savouring. Devouring. Rolling the words around on my tongue, tasting the sounds, hearing the colours they create. A delicious melange of senses that swirl together to create this beautiful language. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I have read these signs aloud once or twice...but that doesn’t bother me much. It would be as if I accidentally began singing out loud, or started dancing in the street. It is simply an expression of joy and an appreciation for beauty. And that could never be a bad thing.