The Sound of the Trumpet

The ringing crescendos of the horns, the fluidity of the valves, the feel of cold nickel plated brass on a cold northern morning. My Passion rules me.

Working melodies in my head, complete with stage lights and an orchestra of voices singing to me harmonies which I must put down lest I fail to impress my nickel plated trumpet with a certain kind of deftness in my newly learnt embouchure.

I cannot sit at this desk riddled in paper work while these symphonies are yet to be played. The world must hear these melodies. The world must hear my trumpet sound.