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Images in my mind

Updated on October 11, 2012

Summary

I am working on my writing skills, and in this hub, specifically my imagery. This is a memory of mine that was very vivid, so I chose to describe it as best I could. Feel free to comment and let me know if you were able to visualize this scene, if it stirs any emotions in you, or any other comments/suggestions you would like to offer! Thanks for reading! :)

Musician

The lone saxophone player closes his eyes as he effortlessly reaches notes higher than the building he adorns. The faded red paint peels from the walls, curling towards the music. The smooth sounds coming from the dented gold horn seem to tell the story of the building’s years of wearing from nature’s wrath. Though the sun has not completely gone, its slow descent casts a slight shadow across the man’s unshaven cheek. The deep tilt of his hat further shadows his eyes, but the tension in his eyelids and the beginnings of crow’s feet at the edges tells his hardships. From the stained and wrinkled once-white shirt to the camouflage pants that are at least one size too big, I can tell he spends most of his time outside this building, pained melodies flowing from the tarnished saxophone. In addition to the haunting sounds, I can hear strength and survival in his songs. The building he serenades mimics his life. It is worn, but strong. It has seen bright sunshine, as well as beating rain. A shallow puddle mocks the building and the man, laughing silently from the dingy, cracked sidewalk. A small trail of steam rises, swirling and disappearing into the now darkening sky. Deep purple, glittering with stars who play hide and seek with lavender clouds. As I sit and listen from a nearby sidewalk table, I cannot help but become emotional. I know I have not seen the struggle this man has gone through, but his song reaches something inside me that reminds me of all I have witnessed in this world. A single tear slides cool down my cheek, bringing me back to the present. As I walk back to my hotel room, I must pass the man. I drop a five dollar bill in his torn case, and without skipping a note in his song, I see him open his eyes long enough to thank me silently.

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    • Maria Cecilia profile image

      Maria Cecilia 5 years ago from Philippines

      For me this is great, this is one part of writing that I really want to apply to mine... I think you were able to send your message. the same way the old man was able to send his message to through his music... goodluck.!!

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