It began with a murmur, a distant echo. He wasn’t quite sure what it was.
He opened his eyes, searching for the source of the hushed sound, but all that lay before him was the fog. As of late, it was always the fog. ‘A figment.’ he thought. ‘A ghost. A memory.” His eyes closed again – the only way to shut the fog out.
A murmur, a morsel of a sound, this time louder came. Small as it was, it shattered the silence that surrounded him. It was slowly joined, one-by-one, with other sounds: the ruffle of grass swaying in the wind; the quiet, serene babble of a brook; the soft, playful chatter of little forest creatures; footsteps of people; and that soft, excited sound he recalled so warmly. Though all distant, they were there. Unmistakably present. Real.
Opening his eyes again, he spun around, the fog swirling and eddying with his rapid movement. Where was this symphony coming from? He wanted so desperately to see it’s orchestra, to join in, to be part of something bigger than himself again. In the fog, he was but one instrument, and he wanted more. He needed more.
He thought he saw figures in the mist, their movements calculated and unmistakable. But as quickly as they appeared, they vanished. But the music…the music stayed. The music played on.
As the figures were lost, loneliness washed over him as if poured from a bucket to drench his soul. This time, however, it was different. Tempered. Where previously it would have been ice cold, this time it was moderate…warmer.
He felt lonely. But he knew he was not alone.
For the moment, it made the fog almost tolerable. It even brought a hint of a smile to his lips, cheeks, and eyes.
He wasn’t alone.