Miles Davis Round Midnight

milesdavis2

Written by Dawn Garcia

When I haven’t written for a while – to just sit and write – I find Miles. Or John. Or Buddy. Or Nina. Or Sam. And I strip down to my bare boned spirit and I just let them take me over. Tonight, I no longer could resist.

The saxophone sifting through my ears like the seductive flow of the waves gently caressing the essence of the shore.  The tap – tap tap tap tap – vacant and small purring underneath the brass as if every note is a soft hand grasping the waist of my soul, bringing me closer. I submit. The fingers strumming the stand-up bass lure me in, like a hand gently gliding against the small of my back, my flesh melting into it. The lull of the brush against the drums, purposeful and provocative now acting like the hand pulling me in closer, asking me to trust the movements that will follow. The brass – the brass blowing – mouth pushing it’s intention through every note beckoning every sultry pulse within me. Like the slide of a hand against my thigh, I quiver and find my soul awakened. My hands stretch out, my fingers spread open, and they play the keys of my keyboard like the black ebony ribs of the piano. I glide across it, I feel the gentle hesitation, the sweet breath igniting my creativity and I am there. Miles. Words. Passion. The fierce song of my core finally begins its dance.

Thank you Mister Davis for invoking my hands to do what they needed …