Out beyond the trees the moon was shining. It had suddenly turned cold and the earth whirled gently, but not unkindly. Cautiously we moved towards the group around the fiddler, until suddenly we seemed to be sucked into the dance. I was enveloped by the smell of sweat and smoke and drink. Sweating hands brushed my hands, faces whirled and turned, and I too, not knowing what I was doing, or minding, and the earth moved with us all. The whole earth was dancing.
Jennifer Johnston, How Many Miles to Babylon