Practicing to Walk Like a Heron

Daydreams of the Catcher of the Queen of the Air

92 Daydreams of the Catcher of the Queen of the Air I He waits for the subtle nod, feels it in his fingers, and swings into a triple, out into the anonymity of air, his wrists at the last locking into his catcher’s unassuming grip. He hears the crowd’s inhaled hush, the sighing exhale, then swings back and twists, kicks, lands poised as a pen on the reliable bar, ready for his insouciant bow. II The shag of the lion’s mane glows golden in the center ring, the great cat’s mouth opening as if yawning into the abyss. He slowly folds his hands behind his back and lays his head on the slab of the tamed tongue. The cymbals’ swish keeps time with the swish of the lion’s tail, the audience still as the dusty air until he steps back, raising his head from the lion’s maw. 93 He then stands in the light’s haze and bows to their anonymous awe. III He swirls his cape within the ring of fire, pulls a silver sword from his star-sparkling scabbard and thrusts it into the flames. He leans back, slowly raises the blade, poses the point in a pirouette above his fierce face, then sends the blade down his throat. Extending his arms, he becomes a sword himself, and with the panache of an indifferent dandy he walks around the ring as if to say he has no need for anyone’s applause. ...