In the middle of the village, not far from the church, the village hall with foggy windows rings to the rhythm of the accordion. Once through these doors, familiar but forgotten refrains from my childhood, popular hits and faces lit up by the pleasure of dancing. Yes, dance, but also, this time of conviviality, of meetings and exchanges, this time of memories and time passing by. The attentive photographer and writer record these stories of dance, a village hall one afternoon; to play with his body again until the following week.