A tripod of piano, bass and drums was spread across the stage weaving chords and counts into finest sonic cloth. trumpet and tenor intersticed between, dazzled the sound-scape with vision and calculated risk.
Solos poured out like fountains with swaying, clapping and bobbing heads; Eyes closed to let the light of imagination in.
With colors as sharp and vibrant as the cut glass windows behind them, they painted memories of Miles back-lit by Solar flares and took a pleasant hike in Shorter's Footprints to the jazz realm's distant borders.
Having journeyed so many Miles, we paid them sincerest thanks, steered our engines homeward then slept – tapping our toes in our dreams.