The curtain closes. The performers pant for breath backstage as the audience rustles to their feet. Behind the curtains is constant motion preparing always scrambling to get everything together before the next act begins… Heart thudding with anticipation and nerves the orchestra starts to play again. The cue to begin....
"There is nothing like the theater." The perfumed crowd of silk-clad society darlings say the phrase carelessly. But in this, perhaps they are right. In the theater exists a life like no other. Stories told in music and movement, a dying language struggling to survive. Ballet has largely fallen out of vogue except with the upper crust. The tickets are expensive, and it lacks the flashing lights and whatnot that draws the digital age like moths to the flame.
But have you ever seen a man fly? A woman sing without opening her mouth? The old stories brought to life each time anew?
I'm sunk in nostalgia for a golden age long past. Wishing that this pause in popularity is just an intermission. That the second act is coming, even more glorious than the first. Maybe I'm hoping that for myself as well. Who isn't? That the beauty of a time past will return, or that there is a new start just a heartbeat away?
The strings begin to tune, the woodwinds sing, the drums toll it out.
Raise the curtain.