Every morning, at precisely 5:47, the sun drags itself up and the birds fly high. The flowers sweat dew and the trees reach for the sky. A little boy wakes up and wonders why? How does everything know when to wake up and live another day to die? Day after day this happens and he cannot help but wonder how this all occurs. How do the flowers and the grass decide to splash themselves with color after a night of black? Why does the sun decide to wake up yellow every day? Days turn into weeks and weeks into months. The wonder cannot escape the boy’s head.

Finally, after months and months of torment, the little boy could not take it any longer. He had to find out why this was happening. That night, when he crawled into bed, he dreamt and dreamt until he rose out of the bed. On towards the night sky he floated and floated, until he was engulfed in dark, foamy clouds. Blindly moving, the little boy stumbled on and on, searching for the answer. The clouds parted. There was a vast black room, dimly lit by hidden lights. The clouds donated a wisp of smoke, and the polished floor shone brightly through the gloom.

There were hundreds of chairs and stands, all occupied by instruments. Violins, violas, cellos -- It was an orchestra! The little boy circumspectfully explored the room more, observing each instrument with watchful eyes. Not a single particle was missed by his perfect vision. He stepped back and thought what this room was all about, standing and staring for hours…

His ears perked up at the sound of footsteps. A shiny black leather shoe marched itself forward, carrying its intimidating owner. An old man with a perfect posture, straight back, chest up, hands folded behind his back, a positions that assumed his full towering height. He stepped up to the conductor’s podium and raised his hands, giving a slow, meaningful tempo. His wrinkled hands thrust outwards and illusionary players began to materialize, lifting each instrument with ease and skill, and began to play.

It was a beautiful concerto, with a lifting and vibrant feeling. The violists harmonized the violins perfectly, and the cellos and basses providing the smooth and rich texture beneath it all. The soloist handled his violin with extreme levels of dexterity and ability, expressively playing with not just his instrument, but his entire body. Even the conductor, at his age, moved with the agility of a much younger man, becoming one with the orchestra. The little boy, lost in the music, took little note in the colors and energy emanating from the orchestra, pulling up the sun and splashing the plants.

The music took a turn into a faster tempo, with the soloist becoming a little bird. Down on Earth, the birds began to shake the night from their feathers. They took flight, following the soloist’s music into the crisp, clean air that was the violas and violins. The cellos’ pitch rises higher and higher, becoming the big bulky humans which beginning to wake, ready to enjoy another perfect day, and absorb the energy from the orchestra.

Suddenly, the world shook, but the orchestra had not changed its enchanting song. More violent shaking rocked the little boy’s vision and he was ripped from the skies, falling helplessly back into his bed, being shaken awake by his mother. Irritated, the boy dressed for school, yearning to go back to that magical place.

The next night, the boy excitedly hurled himself back into bed. Falling asleep in an instant, he rocketed into the clouds and relentlessly searched for the orchestra. This time, it took much longer to find, but it was done and his small footsteps echoed through the vast room and onto the conductor’s stand. He raised his hands, just like the old man had done.

The orchestra appeared before him, their emotionless faces stared at the little boy, awaiting his command. He had no idea what he was doing, having never experienced such elegant and graceful music before last night. He began to wave wildly, expecting the same lively type of music to pour out into the world. What he got was not what he had expected.

It was the sound of a million ducks choking, the dreadful sound of a terrible screeching of an indescribable beast. A sound of a thousand angry flies swarming around the back alley dumpsters, sounds no sane man would want to hear. The players, not having an adequate conductor to follow, tripped and stumbled over their music, playing randomly. However horrible this noise was, it was nothing compared to the happenings of the Earth below.

The sun rose up ten times faster, turned blue, black, green as the cellos cascaded pure dread down to Earth. The flowers wilted and melted into pudding as the violas squeaked an out of tune melody. The little boy frantically tried in vain to regain control. Birds squawked and burst into flames as the solo violinist tried to follow the orchestra, retaining it’s horrible sound. People down on Earth stared in confusion as the impossible happened. The world was on the verge ofing; the grass turned silver, trees took on a lobster skin, and the ocean swallowed up the sky. The little boy desperately tried to stop the orchestra. Everything was out of his control!

He was on the verge of tears when the orchestra suddenly returned to the dreamy and gentle atmosphere it had before. The violins breathed new air into the sky, the birds were suddenly bursting with energy as the soloist began a string of quick notes. The cellos made the background incredibly luscious and glossy, vaguely reminding him of chocolate. The bewildered young boy turned around to see the old man standing there, as if he had always been there.

Exactly how he had been there.
Every day.
Every morning.
At precisely 5:47.
Conducting.
The Morning Orchestra.