I’m out on the patio upstairs, the sun is down but it’s still mostly light.  I brought my book and a glass of wine intending to sit and read in the coolish breeze.

But as soon as I sit down the evening captures me.  Someone is playing scales on a muted trumpet and the notes lilt up and down, mesmerizing me.

People pass by, scraps of conversation lifted on the breeze.

Cars pass by, mostly soft whooshes but once in a while an unmuffled roar.

A dog in the distance, who-hooing, not dogish at all.

The trumpet continues playing, I might be at a jazz club listening to someone warm up.

I miss the old man across the street, air conditioned now, not sitting outside in his white plastic chair talking to everyone who passes by.

The trumpet keeps playing.  A magical moment, I am glad I was here for it.