There is one particular moment of marching band that I remember with more fondness than anything else.
I can't remember exactly everything--like I know the sky was dark, but was it morning or night?--but there's something magical about that practice that I can't forget.
It was either the morning of or the practice before a major contest.
The sky was a dark grey, though the thick fog made it hard to tell.
We whined of course, it was too hard to see, but the practice was still on.
The reluctant band set up in the opening set, unable to see clearly more than twenty yards in any direction.
Somehow, we muddled through not being able to see the Drum Majors and finished in one piece.
There was an odd strain during this practice, trying to see the faint, phantom-like Drum Major and his conducting.
My skin was cold and clammy and my heart sang with joy at the music.
And then, after practice was over and we were having final comments, I looked up.
There was nothing but a strange misty-grey void above us, encompassing us like a bubble.
One could peer into the fog and never know there was an outside world.
It was a safe, happy feeling wrought from a happy fatigue and a child-like wonder.
Oh, how I'd give anything to just experience such feelings again.
 nuit_douce · Thu Oct 14, 2010 @ 07:20pm · 0 Comments |
