Excerpt

With that, Earle blew his trumpet. Deep-hued streaks of glowing rose and blue light flew into the sky. They were followed by sharply shaven spirals of gold and silver that whirled past the streaks, making them oscillate from end to end. They receded into the vastness, each streak becoming a colored, twinkling star.

Brad's emotions resonated. He listened and watched, still holding his trumpet at his side.

Earle gave him a quick nod. Brad felt his trumpet warm. He brought it to his lips and played.

Sound shot from his bell and sank deep into the black and gray night. He felt a cool rush of wind rise upward. Then, as if a scroll was unrolled, color canvassed the sky. Auras of soft color splashed across the darkness like spilled, luminous paint.

Brad blew patches of color like small balloons that Earle pierced with bold, shining darts. The colors mixed and dripped down, hanging like glowing ornaments suspended in three dimensions from each preceding hue.

Earle blew a jet of iridescent gold and ruby red high into the sky. Brad feathered it with a lush skyscape of varied blues and violet-green.

Brad dabbed the sky with thousands of particles of yellow. Earle shot a sizzling beam of staccato white underneath, cupping the particles as if they had been heated, making their soft edges resonate with glistening movement.

As they played together, a great polyphony of light and sound began dancing and weaving its way towards the horizon like a free-form painting, turning the night into a swirling sea of constantly emerging, colored sound. Deep tones mingled with cool, rich colors. High brassy notes rose to accompany astounding specular displays.

Brad closed his eyes and began to see with his heart.

Beneath the bridge, the holding tank blazed upward like a gold beacon. Brilliant sound and light reflected into Brad, passing through the very fiber of his being. The mighty girders reverberated with tone -- each began to glow with a different color.

"Earle," Brad gasped. "I have to tell you something."

Earle took his trumpet from his lips.

"This . . . is too much . . . I have to tell you something . . .
right now . . ."

"No. We have to play more. You haven't heard enough yet."

"But . . ."

Earle stopped him with a look. His eyes shone like living mirrors, reflecting the colors still smoldering in the sky. Even though Brad knew Earle was his friend, the power in those eyes was frightening.

"Play, Youngblood. Play now."

Brad raised his trumpet and blew. The effect was electrifying. Energy flowed from his trumpet in colored waves. Like a jet wash, Brad's notes canvassed the heavens, exploding with sparkling highlights that left, in their wake, the sound of thousands of hands clapping.

Earle raised his trumpet again, but a moment later, put it down. He let Brad go on alone while he watched, smiling.

Brad filled the sky with a delicate wash of yellows and greens. He seemed to have gotten the hang of it, and was enjoying himself when he noticed Earle looking at him. He stopped. "What? Now what?"