Another Austin Afternoon

I stood facing my appartment from the bus stop across the street. The bus wasn't scheduled to arrive for several more minutes, but I was enjoying the wait. A cold front finally blew through last week, and today has an almost perfect mixture of cool air and sunshine. I looked left to see if the bus was coming-- I could see it a couple of blocks up the street, one more stop and one traffic light away. I looked right and saw a middle-aged man, clean-shaven with a fishing hat and a pair of New Balance shoes, jogging towards the bus stop with a trumpet in his left hand. He stopped under the little shelter, tucked the trumpet under his arm and produced a small bottle of Lord Calvert from his left hip pocket. Unscrewing the white-plastic lid of the half-empty bottle, he made a moments eye contact with me, took a sizable belt and slid the bottle back into his pocket, replacing the lid with one fluid motion. I commented on the weather. "The weather's perfect," he said, sitting down on the bench. "Did you see the sunrise two days ago?" "I saw the end of it, I was waiting here for the bus." I have to be on campus before eight on Thursday mornings. "The clouds were stacked up in layer on layer, and the color was unbelievable!" He went on to describe, quite accurately, how the sunsets this time of year take on a color that isn't quite pink but isn't exactly red: "We don't even have a word to describe what it is, but it's beautiful." All the time he spoke, he fingered the keys of the trumpet absentmindedly. I think his hands were playing wordless colors, silently. Just before the bus pulled up, he put his head down to the trumpet and blew out a couple of smooth Jazz runs. "I love this trumpet; only sixty dollars." He boarded the bus behind me and took a seat near the front. Glancing up to make sure the driver was distracted, he took another quick pull from the bottle, settled back into his seat and fingered out a melody with the trumpet's mouthpiece resting under his chin.