Narrator.
A kilometre and then some above the Indian ocean, riding thermals sizzling towards the dance of a mid ocean storm, a lone balloon holds its package of 88 cubic metres of air burnt to a frenzy. Below this excitement of jiving molecules, eager to be free like all things, hangs a gondola of woven hedge. And in this redefined usage of a concealment ploy lifted to the realms of personal preference in abode and environs design, the hedge woven wickerwork gondola, sits our heroine at a treadle operated sewing machine vintage to our modernist and dulled senses but the height of mechanical invention to this lone seamstress drifting through the big open skies.
Voice of Dehlia (prerecorded) as she sits at a sewing machine in concentration.
Not only does it pass the time and give me greater chance to find wonder at my surrounding which might be dulled by constant viewing but this work of repetition and its see saw nature of involvement, as the swathes get scrunched under the ratcheting needle, is myself defining the new destiny I have chosen, even as I know this new destiny is a matter of surprises and scary newness's, but I have so chosen to embark. My clothes are a definition of my search so it is only fitting, oh I enjoy serendipitous puns, that as I endanger my spirit with coalescence with clouds and secure and lock my trust to the vagaries of the trade winds I am willingly unclothing of my old selves and re-fitting this self to the nature of my dreams for a bigger and more adventurous me-ness.
Dehlia removes the garment from the machine and holds it up to purvey her good works then brings up a tube to speak (recorded for playback later).
My Dearest Cousin Wilhelm, I know, in my heart, this journey I make has torn asunder the magics of our past, the glory of scratching close heatful summers searching under lazy spent grasses the glories of twitching insects. Those infinite worlds beneath the tight and severe daintiness of our twittering mothers taking tea on lawns. Our escapes into dusty attics to play at south sea explorers as the frigid snows lay thick and bouncy upon the roofs of the houses that sung mournfully of our pasts and in staccato jabs of the rigidity of our futures. We knew nothing of this as simple walking sticks for grandfathers past became swords to thrust and old blankets, yet to be remembered as instigation for new games during spring picnics beneath wisely gnarled oaks, became the sails of our gallant ships of discovery. Those implicit hopes in the glories of innocent youth are with me now. I never let them go even as the regular booming of a responsibility to uphold and define anew the tragedies of our forebears gripped our teenage minds and tried to rip from my heart a need in the pit of me to be free again. To search still corners but in a whole world. To bring imaginings to life and feel the awakening shivers of unknowing.
I do want you here with me dearest Wilhelm but I know your choices are your own, as mine are obviously my own given the reality of this that speaks to you now, but we must gather up our sorriness's, apologies to overly garnished selves, and transform them into bravery to encounter the truisms of our desires, find courage in unspoken refusals to become as others imagined in their bored brittleness, and step warily but with strong hearts into the reality of cherished dreams. Apart yes, but memories as we share are a strength many are without and yearning for. Our luck is as big as the cumulus's that surrounds me, their bulks stretching and yawning a behemothic sagacity, and that luck can only stretch against the stratospheric constraints of flesh, blood and minds reaching for clear light.
Curtain drop, scene change to children playing and the recording plays with old radio sound. Two dancers spin round the children and are dreams.Dancers end up alone in front and curtain drops behind to remove attic set. New set of Indian bizarre... Dehlia has landed to take on stores.
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