Dance Night, Bevagna (Umbria), July 2018,
featuring the Bevagna summertime dancers

 
On a warm summer night, somewhere in the middle of the Italian penisula, we begin the annual smooth dancing festival, held in the wide yards of the sporting fields next to the town centre. First, people find seats at the tables under the gazebo, to be served with delicious local fare. After the ice cream, the fun begins.

One observes delight as the open air dance ebbs and flows to the timing of the music, and the parading bodies take up the postures that people do when they are in love.

They would know each other well, these people. They were born here, rarely travel 10km away and for them the dance carries on forever.

The limbs swirl, tangle and twirl, over and over again, as if the sinuous gestures might magically dissolve all the complexities of our daily travails.

It is not the first time that someone sowed the seed
There was a time when we could even breathe
It's not the first time that someone spoke of love
There's nothing new. It's just my point of view

Some people tell me that my eyes are small
That's on account of the place where I was born
So before I tell you to open your eyes
Perhaps I'd better first open mine

Love is the thing that keeps us hanging on
It pulls at the centre of everything we own
It's the weight of the arm resting on the shoulder
And the songs that we sing over and over  


Magnus White 2020