Sunkissed skin and tennie shoe tanlines. Skin slick with sweat the byproduct of marching drill and the autumn sun. A metronome turned up so loud you fear you might go deaf. Competitions and winning trophies. Practicing music and drill until your whole body id numb and then practicing some more. Bruises and black socks and homework until dawn. Hours of practice and memorization. Watching for flying flags, fifles, and spears while managing to keep from colliding with each other. The rush of the competition and the heat of the uniforms. Joy of winning and dissapointment of loosing, still celebrating afterwards either way. Big shows and performances. Changing on a bus surrounded by bandmates who are more family than friends and dealing with snappy band directors and over-tired marching instructors. Comming home at two in the morning half asleep and high on happiness and thenever-ending wait to do it again next year.