Lying in my cozy bed I could hear the house creaking in the frigid wind. The snow; I knew, was blowing across the frozen ground, whistling through the tree's. Downstairs the dishes clanked, and the glow of the hall light lit the crack beneath my door. Notes filled the air . . . "let's fall in love now, why shouldn't we fall in love now, we've the time for it while we are young, let's fall in love!". My parents were laughing, and I drifted off to sleep humming their tune.

In a ghetto part of downtown Rochester we drove past the flickering neon lights of the clubs, the cracked sidewalks of out of business gas stations, and the orange glow of cigarettes on the lips of hushed men. Feeling lost, and a little out of place we finally found the cafe, closed for the day, but open for the night. The air was warm and wet, the cicadas celebrated the breeze. Slipping in the back way the notes instantly filled the space. The group was small, but they knew the rhythm, as did the couples lindy-hopping across the small creaky wood floor, caught up in their own romances. We bought lemonade and took a back table. The laughing pairs spun and twirled, the tune instinctively dictating their movements.

The white haired, delicate looking couple swayed at the edge of the stage. A little girl with long blonde hair bounced under the lights, was swooped up by an older boy, and giggled as she flew through the air held safe in his arms. Beanbags hidden in the shadows were mostly empty, the air boiled with the excitement of the crowd filling the floor. I danced. Inadequately. The rhythm that fills my soul doesn't translate to the movement of my feet. The boys were braver, emboldened by the music, perhaps relaxed by the easy smiles. The jazz enchanted. The music of the people, filled with the sorrows and triumphs of Americans. It shakes off the everyday dust of life and turns it into something magical. Magic, that fills the hearts and souls of anyone really listening, and sweeps them off their feet wrapped in layers of universal pulse.