Brass Band

I hear them coming.
Now I see them.
The thrill of the sight.
The sound–the beat–the flags waving, the tuba player–a great big man with a great big horn.
The drummer–the sound making you get up and want to march.
They’re coming closer–the leader waving his arms with the rhythm of the beat, the sight, the sound, like my flowers crowded together in loud color–calling to me.
The sound of the orange amaryllis crashing through the sky.
The dark blue larkspur standing dignified and steady, holding the bunch together.
The red roses singing out as loud as the beat, pressing down on me in red glory.