A dream of flying

On Thursday, Russ and I went to see our first Cirque du Soleil show, Corteo. A clown dreams of his funeral: processions, a full orchestra, beautiful singing in French and Italian, and slap-stick comedy alternating with moments of intense beauty. I thought I knew what to expect, from seeing videos of Cirque's shows, but seeing it live is a completely different experience. On TV, the impossible is just part of an evening's entertainment; live, the barely possible is awe-inspiring.

I'm not going to try to describe the acts in the show. There are basic descriptions on the Corteo website, and I can't do better than those simple outlines. The acrobats soared and surprised, and I can't make words do that. Not yet, in any case. English feels very heavy right now.

C'est comme les artistes de cirque peux voler, ou peut-être échapper sur un vent qu'on ne peux pas sentir. Sûrement, c'est impossible qu'ils sont comme tout le monde; ils doivent avoir les os des oiseaux.



That night, I dreamt that I was made of air instead of flesh, and that my words were musical notes.