Of midways, porchlights and the now famous Princess Ballerina

Once, in a land known as The Valley, there danced a Princess Ballerina. This valley was not the happy, fertile and verdant plain the that name may suggest; rather, it was a fanciful name given to a slash in the landscape where, centuries earlier, angry forces hurled a stone so large the land was ploughed into a giant furrow.

I'll not go further with that pseudo fairytale; no good will come of it, I can assure you. I finally have pictures of Hunter at her ballet class, though. I don't have many, though, because Jenn's camera ran out of battery.

To set the scene: picture the bumper car rides at a midway or moths and a light. In each case, there is a knot of activity that seems to be more or less following a prescribed path towards a common goal, but there is also a lot of individual activity going on at the fringes; activity that is similar to, but apart from, the common goal. Sometimes, there is the kid in the bumpercar; it's his first time driving and he just can't get the hang of it, and so he spends the duration of the ride driving into walls. Other times, it's the moths and their erratic circles; their inability to just focus on the light and maintain a steady direction. Instead, they fly close, spiral and spin away, and then fly close again, repeating this, it seems, forever and achieving nothing. So it is with a young girls ballet class. There are those who follow the instructor, those who don't and those who can't take their eyes off of their own reflection in the room-sized mirror. I'll let you guess which category Hunter falls into.

Moths and bumpercars aside, Hunter loves her dance class.