In early March 2002, we went to the Union. Stefon Harris, the great vibes player, was sitting in with the Western Michigan Jazz Quartet. We arrived early to get a table up front, so we could see his hands. The place filled, and as they began, I felt this smile wash over my entire being. It’s what I always feel when tucked inside a small club as music starts to swirl its sweet, unseeable smoke. Stefon touched an inner chord right away. It might have been two notes an octave apart. They pierced any hesitation that had clung to me throughout the day. I was fresh again and thankful. The music opened us further as the sax player rode his first solo. Suddenly, I fell into one of those moments where life shows itself as always just beginning. We weren’t just watching. We weren’t just listening. We were part of the song of life starting all over again. It made me want to write a book about joy. I closed my eyes, and the sax player quieted his roll of notes, which the piano player picked up as if they’d handed them off. It made me laugh. It felt like the bough of a of a fallen tree letting go at the top of a waterfall, its branches gently going over. Then, it struck me. Joy is the name for all the things that join the sea and the sky. In that instant, I met this book. Their jazz inspired my jazz. It’s how these things work. One bird is flushed out of hiding by a sudden streak of light, and all the birds nearby are sent flapping into the open.
~ Mark Nepo, from “The What And The How” in Things That Join the Sea and the Sky: Field Notes on Living (Sounds True. October 31, 2017)