:: Steps into the post-space looking an unusual mix of stoic and serene, an air of meaningful intent all around him. Offering brief, courteous nods to any who are present, he quietly walks to the nearest vantage point facing west… and with roughly seven minutes and fifty-four seconds until midnight, he brushes the air before him with the outstretched fingers of one hand.
As though this were a prompt, a song begins to be heard, lead at first by a solitary piano:
However, as the song progresses other orchestral instruments join in, and with them the piano's melody blends and intertwines with a steadily increasing complexity and passion… but throughout it never loses its central focus, and no one instrument is never fully lost within its accompaniment.
All the while, though still appearing stoically serene above all else… flickers and subtle indications of a myriad of emotions briefly appear in him, only to pass by a fraction of a moment later. Thus is given the impression that the music is as much evoking a reminiscence as it is honoring it; a gathering together of memories from events having transpired over the course of a year that now rapidly approaches its conclusion.
Every sadness, every joy… moments short and carefree, and ones stretched out by concern… Everything that has the potential for change, and everything that must simply be accepted or embraced in its ongoing and possibly-immutable state -- all of it crosses by his mind, heart, body, and soul… as much of a celebration as it is a lamentation, as much a fond recollection as it is a paying of respects.
Old traditions, new experiences… new friends made and old ones reconnected or still linked with… the possibilities of what everything could yet be, and everything else that either cannot change or plainly does not require it… the young, the old, the living, and the dead -- those long deceased, and those who have passed away over the course of the year. The lands and songs revisited, and those newly found…
Taking them all in as they pass through his mind, coveting none over any other, he etches them -- perhaps weaves or composes them -- into all that he is: a new addition to the mandala, the tapestry, the song that is unique to him alone… but at the same time is irrevocably connected with those of others.
And as the melodies and harmonies drift away, to again be left to the solitary piano… he calmly and deliberately turns around from the deepening night to the coming dawn, from west to east. As he does so, in a companionship with the last few singular notes, he sums it all up into an individual, definitive statement that is not said aloud, but rather exuded through his entire being:
"This. Is how. It is." ::
-=- Fin -=-
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