Erjika Tevkana
The lonely sound of the saxophone drifts along the open field. The wind picks up, adding to the quiet sound of people moving into position. The sky is an unnatural shade of crimson, the last cry of the sun before disappearing behind ominous clouds. It's oddly still, as if the world is holding its breath. A company front, a gust of wind, and the lightning strikes, illuminating the no longer silent band in a brief gasp of electricity, instruments glinting in defiance. The roar of the thunder answers the fierce call of the music.
