A little girl stands on a street in the heartland.
It is 1953 and she is listening to the municipal band in a
small country town on a hot summer’s night.
Her hair is carefully curled around her mother’s fingers and
falls down around her face, sticking with sweaty sweetness to her
forehead. Big hazel eyes sparkle with
excitement as the band strikes up the first song.
It is a Sousa march and soon the little girl lifts her arms
and begins to wave them around. In her
mind she is the conductor, but it isn’t enough to stand there doing that. She must march too! Lifting her little feet high she begins
marching back and forth, conducting the music and lost in a world no one else can
see.
She wears a small two-piece sun suit made out of dotted
Swiss material, ruffled arms and bottom fluttering to the beat of the big bass
drum. Every movement is wild and
unchecked; there is no sense of embarrassment or even self-consciousness
here. She is totally in the moment.
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