We gathered that night, impromptu.
Music was rumoured,
by the bush, secluded.
There was a small fire, falling to embers.
Things brought were guitars, harps, a fiddle, a beatbox,
and a voice or three.
Over the hum of the generator,
we plugged in and played.
In my given spot, I stayed.
Faces filtered in.
Some i knew-
there was shy Sandy, who asked if she could play-
twelve bar blues on her harp,
and she was transfigured.
We were joyful, and egged her on.
A man who was eighty came into the glow with his fiddle,
etched into the night’s tableau.
A fellowship, more than fleeting.
We who played and sang
smiled brightly at one another, with a knowing.
What can one love, more than this?
Just a singer in a rock and roll band
Aremyfeetofftheground 
Music can be balm for the soul. Unfortunately I do not know how to play an instrument…wish I could. I enjoyed this post – a lot!
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Thanks Carol… maybe you can sing?
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You’re welcome and only in the shower haha
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Oh, yes. There is no greater love than music, I think. Thank you.
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This reminded me of my dad, who played and sang in a band from the age of fourteen. Impromptu was one of his favourite things. Thank you for this image, Lee.
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