I sit down to practice in this quiet house.
Music balks as thoughts intrude.
Past and present stream around me,
Old sun, new sun in the blind-less windows.
My eyes tread still-green pasture to a stream
And on the way visit life here years ago,
When it was full, then fraught, then fractured.
But it never stopped, I know. Memories
Flit back across space to this day, this room.
Small feet, excited voices, soon will return.
If I’m to play it must be now, or not today.
The trumpet fits my hand and notes begin,
Past and present in a single song.
-Charles B. Neff