This piece was written yesterday when me and two my friends, Kate and Bridget, were visiting Hillsdale college faculty jazz concert. The concert was called Hillcats and music of Billy Strayhorn was presented by a number of musicians. The author of the famous Lush Life (he wrote it when he was just eighteen years old), Billy died of cancer. He wrote a composition called Upper Manhattan Medical Group which he devoted to UMMG staff members. When I heard the first chords of the composition, I was surprised with the bold bright sound of trumpet which was a statement of rather victorious than defeated existance. I believe that Billy created this piece momentarily. It appeared as magic, as something feverish, something triumphant. Latter, you could recognize the notes of fragility. I could not but write this poem listening the composition so nicely perfored.