Saxophone

The old man stood on a windy street corner. He set the black case on the pavement, blew a few times on his hands, took out the saxophone and started in. The saxophone was dented, a patina dulled the shine … but the sound! People slowed and many stopped to listen as the music echoed through the canyon of buildings. The old man played on and I stood, recollecting. Most days I want to be the musician and make the music. On that day, for once, I wanted only to be the saxophone and let the musician make music with me.