Where Fancy Lies

Fancy goes to strange places.

Imagination takes you to places that you sometimes don't want to go to - but you have to go.

A willingness to see possibilities that are not safe, decent, acceptable - sane, even.  

Those who are guided by their fancies are led down dark, wet streets, lit by streetlamps that don't all work.

They meet each other quietly, standing in circles of stone benches on warm Summer nights, expecting to see things that others don't.

They rest, leaning on the walls of cloistered gardens, watching the shadows of towers pass slowly in the late afternoon sun.

Doors and wrought-iron gates that are simply closed to others are open to them, leading their minds into hidden gardens of knowledge.

They line up the strange-colored rocks on the dark shelves of museums lost to the mind of man.

Mannequins smile as they walk by.  The feet of some of their dance partners make funny clicks as they move to the music.

Fancy leads the search for the Seven Lost Phoenixes of Portland.  The birds talk to those who are patient enough to find them.  They tell knock-knock jokes and eat you if you don't laugh.

But you catch fire as they do and come back to life and everyone laughs even more.

Dance music - tango, hip-hop, minuets, waltzes - all sorts - brings Fancy to the surface.

The Lindy Hop?  Not so much.

Fancy leads to you bright places.

Sometimes a clean, well-lighted place will host fancy. 

Sometimes leaving such a place as fast as your feet will take you will lead you right into the arms of Fancy ...

... and then you're off again.

We all need to walk with Fancy - those with fat bank accounts and well-concieved and executed jobs - and those who are under-employed but know where enough food to share can be found.

So it is with Fancy that I walk tonight.  Perhaps only as far as the bottom of the steps here at the Empire - perhaps as far as my grave.  There is music, there are people that I respect and, I think, am growing to love.

Perhaps that will stay with me as well.