Every time I see the picture above it reminds be that dancing is poetry of the foot.
Imagine an overcast afternoon in Leicester Square. The summer sun is taking its afternoon nap behind the clouds and the bustling crowds continue to chase individual pursuits. As the English sky darkens, despite an increasing number of flashing cameras, one individual stands on his tip toes and “busts a move.” An astonished crowd turns to face this young Michael Jackson reprisal, more so because it is a remarkable sight in what is a mundane tourist day, rather than the fact that it is a free spectacle.
The music booms from the speakers as the dancer, oblivious to the increasing crowds. His hands gracefully point upwards to the sky while he moves from his tip toes to a magnificently executed moon walk. He is not dancing, he is expressing his free spirit. They are not watching him dance, they are hearing his heart speak.
As the skies begin to open, the crowds to not depart, they bring their hands together in a steady beat supporting the dancer for life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about dancing in the rain.