Fiddling the Night Away


Toe tapping
Thigh slapping
Fiddle plucking
Guiness sucking;
With eyes closed the fiddler sways
To the rhythm her band mates play
In the darkness of the back room
Her dream-state is far from gloom,
In her own time she lifts her fiddle
Her bow dances ‘cross the strings like water on a hot griddle,
Though the hour gets late there are no signs of stopping
Feet are stomping and heads are bobbing
Toes are tapping
Hands are clapping
Fiddles are plucked, while
Guinness is thirstily sucked;
Then, alas  the woeful notes of the lone piper plays
It’s time for us to call it a day.

© photo and words by Pamela Ferris-Olson

April 1, 2014


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