Excerpt from The Trees in Winter

Excerpt from "The Trees in Winter" by D.E. Sievers, Available Now on Amazon

The bass throbbed, the drums thundered, the keys trilled, the guitar snarled, and the brass howled and honked like rush hour traffic pleading for the mercy to bring it all home, which they did in a rip roaring finale that nearly brought the sweat-soaked crowd to its knees. At that moment, Blake knew with a certainty that such a performance issued not from any romantic notions of inspiration drawn from a lover or musical exemplar, despite any such claims, but from the native talent, formal training, dedication, passion and synergy that each musician brought to bear when they came together on a stage and bled their hearts into the beckoning silence. Leaving the stage, he and his peers had never felt more spent—nor more alive.
       It was nearly two when Blake arrived home, to a setting whose tranquility couldn’t have contrasted more sharply with the one he had just left. The dark rooms were as still and peaceful as a cloistered sanctuary, infused solely with the hushed breath of Providence. Setting down his gear, he went directly to Miles’ room only to find an empty bed. His stomach dropped a peg as he felt his way out of the room and switched on the hall light, crossing over into the other bedroom where he found his son nested snugly in his mother’s embrace, a heartwarming tableau bathed in the soft light stolen in from the hall.
       Blake bent over and kissed his son on the cheek, scooped him up with loving tenderness and carried him to his bed. Returning to his own bed, he eased into the pool of warmth Miles had left and fit his contours flush against those of his wife, savoring the hot touch of flesh against flesh.
       “How’d it go?” she murmured.
       “Awesome,” he said into the room’s heavy blanket of serenity, while inside him music surged from the thousand sparks of a sizzling fuse.