The Country Mice

The Princess and my father have a long-standing long-distance agreement. When apart and separated by three provinces, they talk about dancing: Where they’ll dance, when they’ll dance and how they’ll dance the next time they visit.

The Princess has piles of boundless energy and the light gamine swish of an elfin breeze. My father is a prince. He holds her in his arms, she pirouettes, he majestically sweeps her around the room — or in this case the driveway — and as she jetés I can only imagine the heavenly scenes to which she is transported.

And then they take their leave of the dance floor.

The sentimental strings of my heart are tugged. I would love to be part of the conversation.

Never forget me, because if I thought you would, I’d never leave. — A.A. Milne