The Power of Music

The Nature of Song

The grass sways gently over the rolling hills; a sheet of emerald glittering in the early dawn sun. A cool breeze skims between each blade, and the fresh dewdrops of morning cling to the green ferns. Glowing reds, golds, and oranges cascade through the shimmering air like the waves of the ocean. Humanity slumbers, but nature calls in whispers as if to say, "Look. Look, something is happening."

Then the red blaze of dawn is fire, crackling and dancing in the tenebrosity of the night, licking through the air, growing, expanding, laughing, a tsunami of heat and flame and danger. The world is alive, every particle bouncing and shooting and spitting against each other. It's unstoppable, uncontrollable, unimaginable; each flame contrasting with the one before, each crackle louder than the one before.

Then the flames fade to the dark blue expanse of the ocean. The sound of the deep is eerie, illuminating the swirling depth of the water. I glide through the murmuring silence, arms outstretched, reaching so far I can feel the smooth current curling around my hands, my body. There is no bottom, only the pitch black below and the faint remains of sunlight far above. The world stretches endlessly before me.

But I gasp, for the air up here is frigid and scarce. It catches hold of words and sounds; they are devoured and lost to the roaring wind. A thousand shards of ice press against my skin and a current sends me tumbling uncontrollably through the clouds, their cold, white hands grabbing me, suffocating me, smirking with power and strength as I fall so so far.

The forest towers above me, the trees stretching gnarled hands to the limitless sky. The ground crunches beneath my feet and I listen to the leaves snapping and crackling as I wander through a green, sun dappled world, twigs and branches catching my clothes, the breeze whispering, laughing, dancing.

And suddenly I'm on my feet, tears steaming down my face, clapping and cheering and watching as the orchestra bow, and leave.