Deep. Distant. Not regular. Rhythmic.
My mind names and discards a title to the sound as I begin my morning walk. Then with the clarity of one of the trumpets in the brass identification is made. Band practice. Marching band, getting ready for the next home football game.
Percussion and brass predominate from my vantage point two blocks away. My mind pictures the woodwinds, fingers racing in pattern on flutes, clarinets, and saxophones. Feet lift and fall in unison, in tempo with a traditional Sousa march.
Left turn. Right turn. March in place on the yard line. Form the pattern, set the figure in motion as the next march begins and the wheel of diligent teens rolls down the field.
One of the sounds of autumn breaks into morning air. Repeats with extra vigor under the lights at halftime.