Audition
Like being perched on the edge of a cliff
to throw oneself off like an eagle, wings attatched
a moment of panic-striken fear was holding him before he started
Threw off in faith of the wings strapped to ones back.
He breathed into the instrument, and for a fleeting eternity
Was neither silent, nor playing. More like floating through time.
The instrument spoke, just like wings that would catch the air
and glide effortlessly.
But Just as the pilot of the glider, hands stiffly on the controll
column, body tense
The trumpeter had no time to relax. The piece flew on, under his
controll;
No observing here, only effort, exhiluration, Reaction to the ever
changing environment
The notes flew by at blinding speed, Each one part only of the
whole, but excecuted with such precision
that it took the complete mind to complete,
Concious and subconcious forgetting it's surrounds, The universe
became only music, instrument, and physical body.
The last note was not the end, as the blood rushed to the lungs,
life and love returned, along with fear.
Air pumped into the lungs too fast, yet too slow.
Blindly, he continued on, conciously slowing his pace, and preparing
yet again, to become airborne off the cliff of fate.