Blue skies, smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Blue birds, singing a song

Nothing but bluebirds, all day long

         The air was heavy with anticipation as I stood off stage, waiting as people filed into the fold-out chairs. I glanced at my parents who were seated in the front row of the white,  circus-esque tent. The sunlight hit the grass in tapered diagonals, each equidistant from the other. My internal tension felt tangible in the breeze. I could feel the butterflies flittering through me, my miniscule breakfast trying to claw its way up my esophagus. I repeated to myself what I was instructed to do in the coming minutes. Breathe, I reminded myself. Walk with opposite hands and legs, but not too fast, and definitely not too slow. Make sure your medal is on right, then plant your feet, lock your knees, and stand a few inches away from the microphone. Finally, the woman, who I had learned earlier was going to introduce me to the audience of the Timpanogos Storytelling Festival in Lehi, Utah, a town that I never heard of, casually strolled onto the stage, pausing at the microphone. Sweat was collecting under my arms and on my forehead when, at last, it was time to make my entrance. The microphone seemed to inch closer and closer as my body moved on autopilot. I looked out at the audience of indistinct faces and allowed my eyes to wander to the vibrant green grass and the arrays of pink and white flowers behind the spectators in seats, as well as the hordes of people standing behind them in the overflow areas. A medal was placed around my neck in a somewhat awkward position, but I did not think to readjust it, for fear of looking fidgety.

         It was time to tell my story. Time to convince the audience that what I had to say was worth listening to. I planted my feet and made sure that my face was at least 3 inches from the microphone. I stared at my parents and my coach, and I knew that I had to start. I did one final check of my dress and hair, trying to discreetly scratch the side of my calf with my sandal without looking like an uncomfortable five-year-old on the stage of a poorly directed Christmas concert.

         “Blue skies, smiling at me. Nothing but blue skies, do I see.” I sang, analyzing each note as they resounded from my mouth. I continued my spoken introduction, until I got to the last sentence, making sure to pause between each word for the audience to fully understand the title. “This is the tale of Elinda Who Danced in the Sky, by Lynn Moroney.” I told of Elinda, who was hatched from a bird's egg and helped to guide the birds on their migration paths. I spoke of the many suitors who had come to ask for her hand. None of them received a positive answer. The north star, the moon, the sun, all of them rejected by the beautiful Elinda. The north star would have been too far and distant. The moon would have taken the same path each night with no variation. She would constantly be living in the shadow of the sun, and she would never be given an opportunity to shine on her own. None of them would have her heart or her hand in marriage. That was, until the Prince, Aurora Borealis, came riding through the night with a hundred rainbow horses. He had been listening to each of the suitors wishing to marry her. He asked her to marry him, making sure to prove that he would have none of the same troubles as the others, and for the first time, Elinda said yes. They danced through the night, only stopping when the sun rose and the prince was forced to return home. Elinda was so eager to begin planning the wedding, she began sewing her dress and veil. She would not stop until it was perfect. A primordial “bridezilla'' if you will. Then came the part of misfortune in the story. The prince arrived at his land to receive approval from his people of his marriage, but he was welcomed by none. He was not to marry Elinda, or risk being shunned out of the monarchy. But with no word from her prince, Elinda waited. And waited. And waited. And when she realized he wasn’t coming, she cried. And cried. And cried. All the while continuing to sew her veil. Her tears filled the rivers and oceans of the earth, and her veil formed the great milky way. The story went on to explain that sometimes you could see Elinda dancing with the prince, their undulating steps reflected in the magical lights of the Aurora Borealis.

         Before I knew it, the story was over, and I was left looking into the crowd of unfamiliar people, all of them silent but eyes wide with anticipation. Even as I stood yards away, I could tell each one of them was on the edge of their seat. As I prepared to, once again, sing my song, I noticed my coach and my mom both wiping away tears. Although I had performed many times on stage throughout my childhood, I realized in that moment what it felt like to be completely one with the audience. It was the moment I felt heard. And though my hands were shaking from the release of anxiety, I could feel the smile spreading across my face as the audience erupted with applause.

Blue skies, smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Blue days, all of them gone

Nothing but blue skies from now on

Above: "Sunset Flowers" Cass Clowney, 10th Grade