I return to you

Hello everyone! It’s been a while, I know.

As a peace offering, I’m sharing an excerpt from a poem I wrote a while ago – the words seemed fitting.

Thank you so much for sticking around despite my being M.I.A.

The flowers are for you, too.  🙂


I return to you

I return to you

With a quick and loyal stride

I return to you

Like a splendid roaring tide

I return to you

For I never should have gone

I return to you

Unashamed of what I’ve done

Still I return to you

Flowers for you!




Happy Monday, dear reader. How are you this glorious morning?

Spring has most definitely sprung in lovely Vienna and as a huge fan of the seasons, I am feeling cheerful, fortunate and so excited about the warmer months to come.

Here’s a poem I found that pretty much sums up my mood. I’ve taken the line “Spend all you have for loveliness” as permission to buy myself a new Yumiko leotard for class…why not, right? 🙂

I hope the weather is nice where you are and wish you a wonderful start to the week!


Barter by Sara Teasdale

Life has loveliness to sell,

All beautiful and splendid things,

Blue waves whitened on a cliff,

Soaring fire that sways and sings,

And children’s faces looking up

Holding wonder like a cup.


Life has loveliness to sell,

Music like a curve of gold,

Scent of pine trees in the rain,

Eyes that love you, arms that hold,

And for your spirit’s still delight,

Holy thoughts that star the night.


Spend all you have for loveliness,

Buy it and never count the cost;

For one white singing hour of peace

Count many a year of strife well lost,

And for a breath of ecstasy

Give all you have been, or could be.


Daffodils in front of window blinds

Happy birthday Emily!

Emily Dickinson's hands

Every time I see the famous daguerreotype of her, sitting and delicately holding what looks like flowers, I remember her beautiful poem “I cannot dance upon my Toes”.

Emily Dickinson, one of my favourite poets, was born on the 10th of December 1830. So today, on the eve of her birthday, I’d like to share the poem with you. If you’re longing to dance on pointe but haven’t done so yet, I’m sure you’ll relate to her words.

Emily Dickinson


I cannot dance upon my Toes by Emily Dickinson

I cannot dance upon my Toes —

No Man instructed me —

But oftentimes, among my mind,

A Glee possesseth me,

That had I Ballet knowledge —

Would put itself abroad

In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe —

Or lay a Prima, mad,

And though I had no Gown of Gauze —

No Ringlet, to my Hair,

Nor hopped to Audiences — like Birds,

One Claw upon the Air,

Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls,

Nor rolled on wheels of snow

Till I was out of sight, in sound,

The House encore me so —

Nor any know I know the Art

I mention — easy — Here —

Nor any Placard boast me —

It’s full as Opera —

Emily Dickinson



Happy birthday Emily!

To become a dancer

So, you remember how in my last post I had decided to ditch my inner multi-tasking-monster for a calmer, less jam-packed weekend? Yes, well that didn’t happen. In fact, quite the opposite happened and I’ve been running around like a headless chicken since the time I finished writing the post on Friday afternoon. I’m actually happy to be back at work now so I can take a real break from my weekend “break”. But, such is life. I suppose I’m just happier when I’m busy.

I won’t get into all the things I did on the weekend but somewhere between dance classes, dinner with family and spending time with D, I found an old diary of mine. I was quite a fervent diarist as a child and kept a diary right up into my late teens. The diary I found was the last one I had written in. I flicked through the pages, cup of tea in hand, and reminisced about my life back then.

Isn’t it funny how years later I’m still keeping diary only now it’s in digital (blog) form?

Folded and neatly tucked in between two of the pages of the diary I found a print out of a poem I used to LOVE. I’m not sure where I got it from but I remember reading and re-reading this poem until I memorised it. Here it is, I hope you enjoy it too.

To become a dancer by Lucile Adler

To become a dancer so late
To be determined so late to become
A dancer is to become part
Of the dream of the humble heart
Determined to dance to the beat
Of this one dawn becoming day
Caught by a great blush and throb
Of laughter at such a becoming
Such a desire to become a dancer
In the sense of one moving, clumsy
With effort, yet effortlessly becoming

The limbs of the old tree bent
Out of shape and dancing, leaf-bare
On a windless day before snow,
Becoming the bent shape of itself ­
That sort of dancing, of sensing
With alert heart the snow-blurred
Motion or natural pause of tree
And of woman too, weary
And trembling with effort near
The aspen fence or morning barre
Stretching to become what she is
Or may be, laughing down at legs
Wrapped in woolly snow; grim,
Laughing and determined beyond pain
So late to translate at last
Life into life, the shared beat
Of laughter and grief into motion
Part of the dream-game I dare you

As the reddening curtain rises
The grand jeté of dawn
And silent-as-snow applause rise
To celebrate one so modest and arrogant
Who dares so late, laughing,
To become a great dancer,
That is to say
To become, in a sense, one with the dawn

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