He Plays the Drums as a Meditation

He plays the drums as a meditation. The joy that spreads across his face as he plays, striking the skins harder and harder, the sound of the beat permeating that place, it beams from his eyes and his smile like a lamp on a hill. Then the guitars come in, surrounding him in a peace-inducing flurry.

The sounds of the cymbals are a chorus no angels have ever produced, the kick drum fire and brimstone from the bully pulpit.

And he plays and plays, still wanting more, laughing harder than a Torontian pentacostal, transcending for those precious moments, worshiping loudly at the altar of the almighty.