This piece, The Dance of the Lime Leaves, was inspired by this rendition of the Caro Nome from Verdi’s Rigoletto, performed by the great Anna Moffo. I’d recommend that you get the three CD collection titled Opera’s Golden Moments, I think that it might be one of the Time Life box sets, but I’d have to get up out of bed to look at mine to be sure , if you wish to hear this, and much, much more. Trust me, it is MORE than worth the money that you’ll spend for it! As this little piece will show, I was transported completely by the music. – GB
Three leaves leap down through the dimpled spotlight cast by the golden Jamaican sunbeams that bath the prickly lime branches from which they have hung. They prance, daintily, across the emerald sward, their stage. They skip along, and dance alternative sautés and plies on invisible eddies, before spinning elegantly in a promenade en arabesque straight into the waiting clutches of the small grey puddle of stagnant water that has nestled, unseen, in the un-mown grass by the pipe. Not for them, the pirouettes of their sisters who still frisk in the festive Easter breeze; to rest here, at the root of the mango tree, and there, among the ferns.
Yet other leaves join the dance and float lazily in the light gusts, to form, at last, along with the star-apple sheddings and the sprinkle of cherry blossoms, with the pink Bougainvillea and yellow Poui blooms, a chorus for the clumsy principals from the breadfruit and pear trees. Too light to tarry for long, they chase across the lawn, passed a fallen coconut bow, a many-fingered supplicant, to linger, but for a minute, next to the rockery, before dashing to some new possibility in the undergrowth, next to the fence.
They revel with the nightingales, the budgerigars, the woodpeckers, Doctor birds and the bees that sip at the fragrant lime-scented nectar of the pearl-hued blossoms of their former homes. They tease the stiff-legged barble doves that peck purposefully in the turf by the almond and the passion fruit vine; they frolic with two butterflies and then they join overhead, in the cloudless, sky, at once Maya and sky and Tiffany blue, the green parakeets and blackbirds that carol in the up-draughts, celebrating the joy of flight. There is no wish to pause, no need to acknowledge the intermittent applause of those yet captive on the trees or the genuflecting grasses by the koi pond.