During college I used to get a break from my studies by going to the music department to find a practice room with a piano. No one seemed to use these rooms, especially at night, so I would go there to play my emotions out, find solutions to problems, heal old wounds. That late summer night I was particularly frustrated; I remember playing my piano pieces over and over again with no resolution felt and few wounds healed. Soon, however, I heard the hesitant first notes of a deeply sonorous saxophone. What at first I thought were practice notes transformed themselves into an accompaniment complimenting and counterpointing my improvisations. We played back and forth like this for at least an hour; I was thrilled, yet still green with youth and shyness I fled, slipping into the night anonymous.
heat lightning -- the searching sounds of a solo sax
in Modern Haiku 17:1