The sky is starburst colors – pinks and yellows exploding from a nebula of clouds, breaking through the seas of ice that shade the blue of the sky.

band ten hut!

and my fingers slip directly into the folds and crevices of the cold brass.

dress right dress!

and my head snaps to the right, ponytail whacking my mouth in its ferocity.

ready front!

I settle into attention, my back stick-straight and my shoulders up. The chill is biting, seething, roaring. My thin hoodie is not enough to clothe my skin from the breeze, but I am not cold. My eyelids droop in protest of my nocturnal adventures, but I am not tired. I am nothing but focused, I am nothing but strong. I stand and wait for the drum major’s call, directly in formation, steady, tall. My hands are at home, fitted in between the angles of the trumpet, and my mouth is firm and ready.

horns up!

The drumline starts, and I feel the rhythm in my frozen bones, echoing, reverberating, bliss. I fit my mouth to the metal, tasting the familiarity of valve oil and breath.

The drums count me off

and I start to play.