The audience
Sits quietly
Waiting
For the orchestra
To play
Fidgeting
With cell
Phones and
iPods
Turning
Them off
So the
Orchestra
Can
Start.
The audience
A quiet summer’s
Day
The director’s
Arms rise
And low strings
And woodwinds
Rise
Dictating the start
Of
A
Piece.
The director
Says something
The orchestra
Smiles
Their fingers stop
Trembling and
They know they
Can play
The piece set
Out
Before
Them.
His arms
Fall.
Four bell tones.
The Timpani
Rolls.
The lows
Play long,
Soft
Low notes.
Harmony.
A soothing
Sound
The clarinets
And flutes
And violins
And violas
Saxophones
They play
Summer
Birds and
Deer
And flowers
Making a beautiful day.
But the day
Turns sour
As the harmony
Leaves
And
Tempo
Rises.
They are playing
Into existence
Storm clouds
Racing
Across the
Horizon
Over the hills
The Timpani
Rolls again
Thunder
Rolling.
The woodwinds
Race up and
Down chromatic
Scales,
Wind whistling
Through the
Trees, bringer
Of the
Tempest
That will
Engulf
The
Forest.
The cymbals
Crash together
Followed by
A Timpani roll
Lightning and
Thunder
Lighting up
The forest
The strings playing
A staccato rhythm,
Moving up
And down,
Chaotic music for
A
Chaotic
Fire.
The woodwinds
Play higher
Panicky
Fire engulfing
Their forest
Taking it
To the ground
Unceasing.
The lows
Crescendo
Bringing out
An eighth
Note disaster
Tornados
Ripping trees
From
The
Ground.
More cymbal
Crashes,
More timpani rolls
One right
After the other,
Then,
Finally
Unison.
The storm
Upon
Them,
Furious.
The musicians
Playing so fast
The audience
Expects them to
Start
A
Fire.
The music
Taking the audience
Making vivid
Pictures in
Their minds
And then
A solo flute
Lovely vibrato
As the storm quiets
Whispering hope
The storm will pass
A bird,
Finding reason
To sing
During
This
Chaos.
A trumpet fanfare
As the sun
Breaks through
The clouds
For the first
Time in
A
Long
Time.
The music gets softer
Smoother, turning
Into a summers day again
But softer than that
For it is an aftermath
Now, not just
A
Beautiful
Day.
A piccolo, playing
A staccato rhythm
The deer
Bolting across
The field
Playing
Clarinets
Picking up
The counter
Melody
The animals
On
The
Move.
But underlying
The newfound
Happiness
Is a sour tone
Trumpets and
Trombones
Play in a minor
Key
Brittle fear
Of another storm
That might
Be
Much
Worse.
But then,
Those four bell
Tones
That so soothed
The audience before
Are
Repeated
Again.

The director turns
A smile
Stretched
Across his face.
The orchestra stands
All together
They bow
And are
Engulfed
By
Applause.