Saturday afternoon on an Island

It is a special thing to hold music in your hands
To feel the weight of it on your thumbs
To move the sweat slicked pads with your fingers
To give it your breath
To kiss it
To feel it in your mouth and to have the air from down in your belly come up and fill the horn
To feel the woody vibrations inside you and outside you
To have your own air carry the vibration
the longer you hold it in the deeper the sound stretches
until it gets free and fills the room and embraces you
like a funny kind of light or maybe a gentle earthquake

It is a special thing to hold music in your hands
to caress it
to bring it close to your body
to go at it until you are out of breath
from pushing through the sweet sonorous swells
from the hollowed and holed cone