Marching Band

Bright white stadium lights rip the darkness.

Irritating the peace of those souls below there is an electric hum while flying insects buzz by the wing load.

The smell of the wet grass on the field mixed with popcorn, bracing temperatures, and shoulder to shoulder cotton and wool-clad people looking at us.  We are all that remain on the field, with the sudden retreat of the warrior teams.



We stare at hash lines on the field while standing in splendid precise lines, woolen coats, instruments at the ready.

We are one army of sound, one mission, one path.

Brass, woodwinds, and percussion waiting for a lone signal.

All souls thinking of that first beat, step, note, afraid of missing it.
One would stand out like a clown. (mother is watching, listening, proudly so)

We are together, we are one.

Mind’s eye and ear, first notes remembered and planned for;

Eb, flutter to High C, two beats later, high A, then Ab.
Are you ready?

Are your shaking hands fear or excitement?

Do you have enough air in your lungs?
Can your heart beat faster?
Will you die in the rape of that note and the nakedness of it if you miss?

Mind in neutral.
Take that first step.
Pivot to the half left, breathe.

Pierce the night with music like God was listening.

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