Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Legs and hips tangled in a mess of bota fogos, voltas and cruzado locks. And all of a sudden he is frantically attempting to mirror her intricate footwork, lithely gliding across the parquet flooring, while he trundles, ape-like, behind.
Samba. The dance of summer.
I only can hope that by the mid-May medal grading examinations, Qing and I will not cast a wintry spell over cheery summer blooms.
Samba. The dance of summer.
I only can hope that by the mid-May medal grading examinations, Qing and I will not cast a wintry spell over cheery summer blooms.
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