Music Savannah Marie Mack

There I am, sitting, hidden by a black tenderly loved and cared for music stand, surrounded by clamorous and obnoxious noises. Sitting and waiting for what seems like an eternity. To my left I hear skweaks and high pitched screeches. To my right I hear blasts of loud blats and low eruptions that shake the stage completely. In a far away distance I hear low beats and ear-piercing crashes with the occasional drum roll or bass hit. Moments later I stand, move my chair, and put the podium where the chair once stood. I step onto the "podium of truth," and raise my right hand. Every eye is on me, and silence overcomes the facility. The ensemble sit in silence watching and anticipating my next move. A flick of the wrist and a beautiful B flat tuning note was played. I tap my baton three times and the tuning is stopped and everyone is ready to play. I raise the baton and gently flick it giving tempo. My heart is racing, a drop of sweat drips from the tip of my nose. I raise both hands and give the down beat. On my left I hear long perfectly unison runs and high pitched heavens. On my right I hear the sycopated rhythms, redundant but beautiful. Heaven is upon me, surrounding me in angelic music.

"Hark hear the bells, sweet silver bells,...