Amidst the cool air, as the sky comes alive and the world wakes up, it is quiet, and so I sit in silence alone.

As birds yap and cars groan, comes the occasional dog with a snort, but still, I sit in silence alone.

While the morning walkers chat, the leaves around me tremble as the lawns get sprinkled, yet I unmoved, I sit in silence alone.

Though the garbage truck drones on, and the first train lumbers with early bird workers, nevertheless, I sit in silence alone.

With growing soft shadows the heavens glow, do the first rays of sunrise appear, with awe, I sit in silence alone.

But as the world grows bright, comes the cacophony of living, and I grow weary of the clutter and the sounds of bluster, for I, I no longer sit in silence alone.

It is then that I arise and gather my things and make my way back home, for there in my abode I can afford, once again, I sit in silence alone.

-gk

Cold air, rain falling Windows open, sweatshirt on It is not yet fall Emollient for yesterday This reprieve from heat Thirsty summer lawns are quenched Alas, no picnic today

-gk

Waves of flitting verdant leaves, grasping what ebbing rays remained. It is not enough; it never is, up north.

“More! I need more! My time is short!”

But the hour would not relent. With rue, dusk crept as shadows cast long upon the surrounding ground.

“Come. You have done enough to earn this repose.”

-gk

In barren field hushed Forsaken to dusk's shadows A howl of remorse

Piercing the dark, light beams out A shrill beckons, “Are you done?”

-gk

A menagerie Raggedly pursued in haste More baubles beckon With a slavish fate's pursuit Like moths attracted to lights

-gk

Long before people texted by swiping on their phones or click-clacked their way through SMS-abbreviated sentences, we did things the old-fashioned way. From behind the music stand with our sheet music splayed, we surreptitiously texted and drew to our stand partner during orchestra rehearsals. To pass the time, we played simple games: Tic tac toe and hangman. When we were really bored, we'd make hand gestures and faces across the aisle.

But some of us took big risks. While the conductor trained their focus on an orchestra section, we'd just talk.

♩♪♫♬♫♩♩♫♬♬♫♩...“TO MEET OUTSIDE AFTER REhearsa...”

“Not today you won't. I'll see the two of you for 30 minutes after practice.”

Sometimes the orchestra would laugh out loud, but some conductors inspired the silence of fear.

We had to be strategic — short sentences and always avoid raising your voice — to avoid getting caught. Yeah, it was a game we all played, except the first row of strings — they were too close to the conductor to avoid being caught.

Then there were those of us in the rarified (id est stupefied) air of being petulant goofballs playing the music of other sections of the orchestra instead from our own pages. I played the trombone, baritone, and trumpet parts on account that, when done well, was impossible to discern. That's for a different story, though.

In the summer of my junior year, I apparently stepped over the line in a glorified “select national” wind band. Most of us only did it because of the promise of having a nice addition to our college applications — well, at least that's why I did it. It was an okay wind band and the music wasn't challenging at all; it was an excuse to have fun and meet up with band friends from around the state and intermingle with others from the Midwest.

With a simple request of a bathroom break, I managed to get under the conductor's skin. Okay, maybe there were some things that led up to that, like, oh I dunno, I guess we might have been yakking away too much in the section. We were a good section though; we never screwed up our parts. Again, the music wasn't very challenging. Still, we screwed up the rules of the game — don't get caught.

We got caught.

For what it's worth, I wasn't the one whose voice was heard when the conductor suddenly stopped the woodwinds.

“WHO WAS TALKING?”

Toby mumbled back sheepishly, “Sorry. We were.”

The conductor launched into a five minute scold (or was that a tirade?) about how important it was that we, the members of this “select national” wind band, conduct ourselves according to that honor. I swear I didn't roll my eyes, even though I knew most of those Midwestern kids only joined for the week-long vacation trip to a tropical paradise.

Back in the 80s they used to have these anti-drug ads which were referred to as, “scared straight”. In this wind band, instead of being “scared straight”, the kids were “scared silent.” He seemed satisfied at the outcome of his speech and the practice resumed.

The next day was our last rehearsal day before the concert. Three hours into practice, I needed to go. Kids, never drink a 32 ounce Slurpee before a four-hour rehearsal. It was brutal, y'all. I had to use the bathroom, so I raised my hand.

“YES?”

“Excuse me, I have to use the restroom.”

“Sit down. We're almost finished.”

“I'm not requesting, I'm telling you I have to go to the bathroom.”

Kids, never talk back to an adult, especially an older one. He launched into another lecture about taking the honor of this “select national” wind band seriously. Again, I'm certain that I resisted rolling my eyes; I just wanted to use the bathroom.

“Anyone else needing to take a bathroom break?”

To no one's surprise, half the band raised their hands.

“15 minutes.”

And that was that. Or so I thought.

The following day, our concert held up well. No one screwed up and we sounded great. At the end, the conductor called each person by name to come up and receive a little certificate for participating in this “select national” wind band. With each name, people politely clapped and a few people cheered. I debating in my head if he was going to skip my name just to passive-aggressively shame me. He didn't.

He called my name. As I stood up the band spontaneously cheered loudly, but especially my section.

Holyshit! Holyshit! HOLYSHIT!!! Did I just accidently become a rebel leader?!?

I walked up to the front of the stage, dazed but kind of happy. Do you recall the end from the first Star Wars movie? It's called “The Throne Room”, where the three heroes of the rebel forces make their grand entrance and walk up the aisle to the front? In that moment, my fantastical brain was preposterously playing that march song.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

I turned around to face the band, and I swear in that moment, I heard the band cheer louder. My section was smiling and clapping wildly. What a wonderful day that was.

The lesson I learned that day was that most people are too afraid to speak up and stand up for themselves. But, once in a while, a fool with no regard to the consequences will blithely stand up and speak out. That fool was me. And for that carefree attitude, I was briefly seen as rebel leader.

Note: Over the decades, this story may have been changed or augmented over time, perhaps bordering on myth-making, but the spirit of its message remains the same.

-gk

Surrounded with warmth Light shone on your weathered skin Were you there, watching? But for us your barren room Our hearts silent as you left.

-gk

memories in blur of forged bits of jumbled shards rewritten in time through ceaseless reprocessing loops until gone — do i know you?

-gk

Through calm, white noise rains Muddle and dust washed away Life yields, cleansed anew.

-gk

Cot'ny tufts adorn Hushed, though still, none is forlorn Comes soft glow of morn

-gk