Rekindled

I left without a word, cradling my horn, knowing they deserved better but too shaken to pay my debt in courtesy. I couldn’t stay in that broken place, couldn’t stand their courage or their hope, or even thank them for what they had saved, though what they saved had once meant life itself to me.

I wandered, half aware, until I stumbled on bench, alone, undamaged, in the midst of rubble and loss. I sank down, and let the sun’s warmth seep into my shoulders like a mother’s caress. It eased my muscles, but it could not ease my heart. Nothing could ease that.

Nothing? The sun winked off brass, and at last I put the horn to my lips.

An hour later I was still playing. What had begun as a lament had become a shout of defiance, and, at long last, the tears poured down my face.

Sneaking my #VisDare in under the wire again.

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