Every weekday morning, I wake up to he very distant and faint sounds of drums being played and horns being blown. 

It’s become a pleasant ritual for me because it brings back some faint memories of long ago. 
What I’ve been listening to is the Barbe Buccaneer Band in south Lake Charles. My house is about a mile from where they practice in the mornings. My bedroom window faces that direction. Unlike the boom boom bass blaring sound systems I often hear pass down Country Club Rd, the Barbe kids make good music. 
The first time I heard them play from up here took me back to my West Street bedroom in the hometown. We didn’t have air conditioning, so the window was open 8 or 9 months out of the year. I could hear conversations from the 7-11 up town. I could hear the kids on the playground at the elementary school. This was especially attractive because I wasn’t yet in school and wanted to go. The playground noise from 3 blocks away made me want to go even more. 
Then, there was the sounds of the marching band practicing. The horns, the drums, the woodwinds. All in perfect harmony. 
I couldn’t see any of this. I could only hear it. It left the rest up to my imagination.  Who was playing? How were they dressed? I imagined the band was wearing the trademark black and orange military uniform, complete with the bandmaster hat and quill. 
Of course, they weren’t. Not for practice anyway. Not at 7:15 a.m. 
But that’s how remembered it anyway. 
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