He stopped. He thought he heard something. His shadow cupped a hand to his ear, straining with all his might. He strained even harder, because he had not heard this sound in such a very long time. A rustle of the trees, a gust of the wind, the silence of the sky; then a sound: a sound that broke through time, through any barrier withstanding, a sound that could not be mistaken for another. He held no smile on his face, no frown, no grimace; his face was just his face, holding no emotion or recollection of any thought or action before this. He heard the sound and sought to find where it came from. The sound became louder, leading him to his left. He brushed passed the trees, his shadow at his side, his companion aside; the sound became softer, quiter, almost knowing he neared. It arose again, as if from a grave, but this time on his right; he quickly followed the notes as he ran towards the sound through a field of trees. It again became quiet, almost stopped, and continued once more again. It was a peaceful sound, not of sorrow, nor joy, but of hope, of a hope of tomorrow, for better things to come, but it knew that tomorrow would never come. It arose once more in a furious anger, knowing that its fate had been sealed before it had even been born. He ran once more, trying to find its source, stopping quickly as it changed paces, volumes, and directions. He heard it at once to his right, then his left; then his back, then his front. The sound was coming from all around, a serene sound, a gentle sound, a ferocious sound, and angry sound; it was coming from all around. He began to run out of breath, to tire, chasing this moonlight's illusion as he darted from place to place, seeking what could not be found, but could only be heard, what could only be felt. He gave up, as the moon began to set and the sun began to rise once more. He sat beneath the shade of a tree, to take cover from the rays of the sun that had not risen. He listened closely once more, and did not have to listen for long. The sound began to tell a story, of sword, of woe, of loss, of love; of everything it had stood for and what it had not. It rose, it fell; it swung, it swept; it quickened, it slowed; it started, it stopped; it did everything one could think of, and everything one could not. He listened, gladdened to be able to hear such a sound, to be present at such a symphony that could not be found. His shadow lay behind him, his companion sat beside him; all three feeling the music, not seeing, or even hearing. They felt glad, then sad, then happiness, then sorrow; the sound told the life of something one could not quite explain; of its ups, its downs, and even its lefts and rights. It spoke of all, sparing nothing to the listener, nor the subject. The volume rose with such an intensity it made his shadow jump, and he quickly followed suit. The sun was seen from behind the mountains once more. The sound had stopped, quietly fading away in an myraid of feelings, leaving one to wonder what it was really about. The trio sat for a while, absorbing the symphony as it no longer sung, and had long faded away. The sun began to beat down upon the from above, giving rise to the temperature as well as their bodies, as if it had called to them to leave and continue once more.
They sat up, and brushed the leaves off as they contined their course once more.
1 January 2005
Nexty Entry
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