The variation in performance and the expounded exposure left me convinced of the potential in the instrumentalists in this genre. There was growth in each combos presentation. Growth that I could see at both the individual and collective level.
My poem is not quite a poem, it is more like a vision of my daydream.
My engine awakens. It’s just before dawn. The streets are still asleep. I’m a small SUV gliding down the road. Now, just hours later , the summer air holds a slight breeze. The year is 1993. I’m wearing bright blue pajama shorts with an all white tank top.I would stay in my pjs all day if I could. I stand in the kitchen, my favorite spot in the house. I look out the small window onto the yard of gorgeous flowers. Even though it’s summer I imagine myself in the Artic Ocean. Secluded. Cold. The thought makes me bundle up in my bed. I sit and imagine the day all over again.