Close your eyes and listen, listen to the whispers of aged wood, the brass, the forbidden whispers... tales woven between notes, harmonies unsung. They unfold, shimmer, spin. Are you listening? Not just hearing, but pulling sounds into hues, colors into echoes.
Imagine each note as a single star in the night, a constellation of chords forming in the indigo sky, breathing in cycles, like the tide. Soft waves rolling, an ocean of sound. Sand between your fingers, slipping, slipping.
Touch those textures with silent fingertips. Feel how they pull, they merge and diverge, they leap. Remember the cathedrals where silence is a note itself.
Dive deeper into the symphonies that dance around your head, around the room, around the world. What's next? The oboe sighs. The strings murmur. You follow, you wander, you wonder.
Keep this secret—every note, its own universe, its own dream, waiting to be explored. Where does it start? Where does it end? Perhaps trails in tonal textures lead you somewhere else, somewhere... profound.
The Cycles of Time