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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1444992
Marching on a freshly cut field, playing loudly, impressing the crowd and judges.
Sweat droplets rolling down my face,
Illuminated by the white lights.
My shoes silently tread the damp ground.
My body shivers. Nerves?
A shaky breath.
No time for tense, unsure thoughts.

Our cue to begin.
Silent whispers invade: Remember…Remember…
No! Not too soon!
Step-off; my feet in time,
I play in rhythm.
From one line to another.
A smooth transition.

The second signal given- slower, calmer.
The phrasing sweet and long,
The breeze carrying the melody to the stands.
My stomach quivers.
My breath is short but not labored.
I arch, heightening.
The harmony hits.
The chord stills the world; no noise matters.

Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat.
The last signal given.
Now, I’m wracking my brain for the rest.
Follow the pattern,
Keep in sync.
Back to forward.
Flank to slide.
Step, feeling the swing.
Halt...Up! Down!
My voice screams with the others.
The cheers drown my ears.
My racing heart broadens my contagious smile.
Again! Again!
Grins flash.
I live for the field.

© Copyright 2008 Cherry Hawkins (ajt2010 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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