A Note for the Soul (Glass)

An old woman, well over two centuries old, sits atop the stairs of the Magnam Chorum. There, her eyes remain lowered to the level of the street she's facing, examining the few people still roaming about at this time. Many of the younger ones that cross her path, turn excitedly to gaze upon the magnificence of the building behind her, admiring the architecture and the sheer artistry upon which the foundations of it were built.

She does not need to turn.

Her eyes have explored every crevice of it over the years, her heart has enjoyed the art of every stone it was built with, her fingers did not need to touch the walls for her to feel the warmth, yet her ears… Oh, they could never get enough.

No matter how many hours, days, months and years she could spend, sitting atop these stairs, underneath the windows of the Afternoon Violin choir, there was nothing in this world or beyond it that could make the craving for such passion go away. She has loved, has loved herself, she has hated and fought, she has been jealous and selfish, she has been courageous and powerful, yet no emotion her heart has ever produced could compare to this.

The young people of this generation have so much… emotion, so much love for life that they grow closer to the Gods than any of her lineage ever managed to.

The old woman closes her eyes and gently exhales.

Around her, the bell of a child's toy clings as it's shaken, the leaves rustling as spring's gentle gushes flow through them, people talk and laugh within restaurants and the flames lighting the streets flicker as they anticipate the night impatiently.

She remembers the scholars telling her, when she was little, that any sound in nature is but an echo of the power Gods used to create our world and as such, without sound, there is no existence. These sounds, as they claimed, were ripples of what they had left behind, a delayed mimicking that would once stop, and yet… So many years later, as she's sitting quietly, making no sound, she feels more alive than any other time in her life.

She exists in a greater capacity than when she sings or speaks, because only in her silence of that moment can she listen to the sound of the world around her.

No, they do not sound like echoes.

They sound real, like creations of their own.

A fish swims in the pond of a neighbour's yard, and its ripples urge the water to flow in new patterns and they, in turn, push that lily pad, causing more ripples to form.

No, she has decided, on these stairs of a monument to sound, that every sound is an ode to the creation of itself.

Then that also explains...

Above her, the Orchestra of children pour their souls into their instruments, throwing all of the passion their young bodies can muster to move and feel strongly enough as to create the most true sounds of them all.

Music.

If all other sounds in the world are nothing but an echo of the Gods, then Music is that singular fragment of their existence that brings them closer to the divine. If a soul is eternal and of Godly creation, then surely… when you use it all to create the most meaningful of sounds in one's life, it can only be called divine itself.

She's glad that this tradition has remained through the years, for everyone to learn an instrument no matter its nature. The soul must be expressed and poured into the world it was meant for, in whatever way it desires to do so, and she… she thanks the Gods every night that they made it so.

For when words fail, music can succeed.

It calms the seas, it brightens the light, it fuels the flames… it makes this world feel real and worth existing. Maybe that's why Gods made it be this way, so that when young people she the errors and flaws of this world, they will play their music and remember that they can change it.

The class above her ends, and the music of the Orchestra stops, only to be replaced by a choir of laughter and childrens' voices inviting each other to walks and dates.

The old woman carefully packs her dinner, places it in her purse and stands.

When the children eventually walk down these stairs, she has flown off to her home for a good night's sleep. Besides, the young ones would make sure to appreciate the night's sounds in her place.