was cold to touch
black dancers on yellowed parchment
valves.. they are pistons
fluid they rose and fell
notes.. raspy from inexperience
it had been years since i picked up a trumpet.
An unexpected blessing on this raining georgia weekend.
I was blessed by a fellow lover of the brass horn
Memories flooded of … like yesterday… of green-grassy feet from the football field.
Hours of steps, hours of notes…. teaching me discipline, perseverance and to work as more than one.
Those were thorny years, perhaps you remember days past like these?
Tonight- warm tea in hand- dishwasher humming and tired from hours on the road- I have been blessed.
Taken out of my lab value- risk calculating-hemorraging- code blue- surgical instrument world…
to remember my first instrument…
Reminds me to pause and remember the world is drunkenly complex and that music..
music wades and swirls around those jagged places
the draining constants
to fill…. and heal….
it is a Fathers gift to his tired children.