Picante




Magdalena loved to dance. All it took was the hint of music and her feet started twitching; even sitting at her desk her feet beat out the rhythm of a hundred songs a day.

She found music in everything; her graceful hands swept through the air like songbirds as she spoke; her hips and shoulders keeping time as she walked.

"Magda, Magda," her mother lamented; "¡tan picante!, that one."

She was too hot; she was too spicy for her mother's comfort. There was nothing she could do about it; Magdalena was born to dance.

© 2010 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel
Bead-woven bracelet. Pattern available.

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