Bocktanz

I got tugged, by accident of cocking my head to a far-away Irish flute, into full-blown Irish celebrations along the lake last night. My former (Céili & Step) dance teacher showed up & roped me into `The Fairy Reel`, which seemed all and not at all familiar, in front of the stage and crowd. Sizzling. Ran into former ICH'er - Armenian-Finno-Hungarian dancer I hadn't seen since 2007, who's a co-digger of roots & folk-religion: _Katholikos_. Ecumenism, Chesterton & Belloc's names came up. Rare celebrations already have a crowded company for Thursday pub. Heaven petitions were ringing. The weather was sweltering on my eskimo-body. We sweated a freak medley of capers, waltzes, polkas, reels, hambos, polskas, gangars with centrifugal force to knock down arch-enemies. I flung water off my woolly mophead-hair like a half-goat, which led to dancing circles on my hands. This mad delight is the feast after famine: What diehard folko-philes feel, daily blared by Brainwash Babel Noise, when the public host traditional music for a single hour. I'd no idea the event was on - but I got there the same way all the children got into Pied Piper's magic mountain. By following the pipe out of town. Leaving the nuclear for the extended family. Hail the Piper! Down with Puritans.