How do I describe the way the light – muted white, green, red, yellow and blue – played across the set? Like a Dan Flavin piece, one gifted its colour to the other, marking the shift of time, shaping something new.

Then what about that triangle? Or the square, circle and line that were the sources of the light? What about capturing the majesty of their pure geometries, seemingly sent from heaven? Then what about the way they slow danced through air above the stage, making and remaking space in quarter time?

And then the music: Max Richter’s reimagining of Vivaldi. Four Seasons of whomp, wooze and wonder, all loved-up and supercharged on speed, straining at the edges of the orchestra pit and threatening to swallow us whole and then…

release.

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The dancers soared. Held aloft on the amphetamine rush, their softhard bodies picked out by hardsoft light.

They flitted, rained and rumbled across the stage like spring’s flight and summer’s storms. In waves they heralded the changing of the seasons. In pairs, they wove stories of awakening, abundance, abandon and, finally, snow-white sleep.

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And then there’s me in the audience, gasping. Salty-cheeked and awed. Fiending for more.

A heart and soul, stolen by dance.

(You can watch a trailer for David Dawson’s The Four Seasons here.)