Adonie wore black pants which were as always pushed into her boots
and a white shirt whose long loose sleeves gathered softly at her wrists
and whose collar rose to accent nicely her black vest. The vest was not
the worn charcoal corduroy blotched with numerous lumpy pockets which
she sometimes wore on the scaffolding or evenings bent over her charts
at the table. This was one I had never seen before.
Her hair gleamed; coppery lights struck from its darkness as she danced.
Adonie danced.
Adonie danced with Molly, Charles, Fred, Laura, and a blond woman and a brown-eyed woman whom I did not know. She was supple, laughing, and spoke quietly into Adonie's ear as they danced, and I watched them, I watched Adonie, analyzed her more than I had intended and found her disturbingly graceful.
Adonie danced as well as she walked two by fours or gave Olive a scrub-up or spoke convincingly before a wilderness partition commission.
She enjoyed it, clearly, and sought to pleasure her partner in the dance they created and shared.