My eye catches on something

Shiny metallic brass

My hands seek out its surface

Cool and smooth metal

My fingers hold the keys

Opaque pearl disks

My mouth tastes the mouthpiece

With its freshly filed wooden reed

My lungs fill with air

And create a sound, long and low

My fingers begin to move

Starting slowly

My foot begins to tap

On the thick, soft carpet

Notes begin to change

Moving up and down

And thus, practicing begins