As this post comes on the internet, Weeda's baton will be coming down, and our first big concert will begin. I might be too busy tomorrow, travelling down for the next one, to post, but I'll say now that this is the culmination of my summer. Sunday is the beginning of fall for me.
Summer is the time when we, about sixty musicians, travel over an hour each way, to rehearse for three hours for about five days a week. We have fun, we tell jokes, and we make beautiful (or at least, we think it's beautiful) music. And then we perform, and it doesn't really matter how many people show up for the concert. The important thing is the people. The music. Somehow or another, I'd like to tell our conductor this. I doubt it will come out the way I'd like it to, but I'll try anyways.
Every summer is the same. The last day of summer is the last gala-concert. Let's hope that the music sounds as lovely as the rehearsals seemed to promise us. And here's to knowing that tomorrow's the last day of my summer.
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Add to this post the fact that I saw geese heading south this afternoon...
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