Beneath the plane trees of Flagstaff’s green,
Where noon stands hushed in silver air,
A dancer lifts his measured limb
And time is held within the square.
Feathers crown his brow with fire,
Painted eyes remember suns
That rose on temples, drums, and dust
Before these lawns and city runs.
A shield of light, a mirrored round,
Catches sky and watching face;
Each step resounds with older ground,
Each pause a vow of measured grace.
Around him sits the modern crowd,
In jackets, lenses, murmured breath;
Yet he stands carved from ritual,
Defying clocks, deferring death.
So art returns where grass is trod,
And strangers learn, though briefly, how
A body speaks what books forget:
That past and present share one now.
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These dancers had amazing outfits, so I can see why your camera loved them
ReplyDeleteOtherwise, the location just had little to shoot.
DeleteGood -Christine cmlk79.blogspot.com
ReplyDeleteAn impressive photo and a text that really draws you into its atmosphere. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteI am unfamiliar with the culture. I took the shots as many as possible
DeleteBuen retrato del guerrero. Tienen que ver algo estos disfraces con la cultura maya, azteca o inca?
ReplyDeleteProbably Inca
DeleteExcellent series of images!
ReplyDeleteThank you for the visit
DeleteEl guerrero parece danzar al ritmo de alguna música.
ReplyDeleteUn abrazo
The music is rather solemn
DeleteI suposo que una gran part d'ells també ho oblidaran...
ReplyDeleteSalutacions!
Absolutely stunning.
ReplyDeleteThis looks amazing!
ReplyDeleteCool! I've seen costumes like that before. Looks Aztec.
ReplyDeleteHandsome guy!
ReplyDeleteI wish I could go back in time and see the original people and rituals (from a safe perspective!). I loved the words, "Painted eyes remember suns That rose on temples, drums, and dust Before these lawns and city runs." Striking photo, Roentare!
ReplyDeleteI love those dancers' costumes!
ReplyDelete