The Overture of the Ages

Ocatavia hoisted herself into position. Standing on her hind legs and wrapping her forehooves around the delicate instrument like she had done so many times before. Her mane hung loosely, unbound from any sort of restraint, as free as her soul and mind. Her tail flicked as it came to settle comfortably on the ground behind her. In her fetlock, she held to the tool to create noise. Not just any noise, a noise with a special meaning. A noise with a purpose to inspire others, and that brings smiles to those who did not truly understand it. A noise that she made herself, using her own two hooves and time and sweat. A noise that was known to many as a simple word.

But Octavia could not remember that word.

Was it known as music? A melody to which others could sway their hips and laugh with friends. A tune to which lovers could share a fine dinner over. It was music, but it was also much more. Music was just a noise, a noise that others did not completely understand. A noise too complex and rhythmic for anyone to truly understand it, other than the composer, of course. Although, Octavia's cello did make music, and what wonderful music it made. It had played music for royals and guardsmen. It had wooed many a stallion on a dark night. It had swayed the attention of many others, to the point where they would pay money to hear it. When Octavia played her cello, she could make music. She wasn't about to make music this night, she was going to make something else.

Though she couldn't recall what it was called.

Was it just a hobby? Something Octavia did in her free time for self-entertainment? Something to which Octavia could act upon, and find enjoyment in doing so. It was fun, something done for self amusement. It was easy and laid back, and barely any forethought had to be put into it. It was Octavia's specialty, she could generate this harmonious sound and smile at the result. She could close her eyes and hum the tune as she plays, maybe stopping to giggle in the glee it brings her. This was a hobby, and it was music, but it was also something much more important.

Octavia looked over at the picture on her mantelpiece. She stood there staring at it for what seemed an eternity. That picture was taken ages ago, on a sunny day in the middle of summer, out at the park. Octavia remembered that day, for it was one of the best days of her life. It was the day she got her cello.

In the picture, lay a much younger Octavia. She lay in the grass on a hill, bathed in sunlight. She looked out into the distance, lost in thought, much like she was now. More green hills rolled in the distance, some covered with speckles of yellow or red flowers, accenting the occasional tree. Not far from the Octavia in the picture, there was a larger tree, shifting it's shadow as the leaves adjusted to the wind in a frozen frame. That day reminded Octavia of why she played her cello. What she made with it every evening, at this hour.

Beauty.

Octavia made music for others, and a fad for herself. But in times of pure essence, at the late hours like this, she made beauty. These events weren't able to be repeated on a stage, or even in a small group of friends. These times that Octavia made beauty had to be secluded, and silent. When Octavia made beauty, she made music, she entertained herself, and she also thought. She would think about who gifted her this amazing instrument. Her mother. She would think about the times she spent practicing with her mother, getting every note just the way Octavia wanted it. Octavia would play, and her mother would sing. That was the only time Octavia saw beauty being made in a group.

So how could you replicate it?

What was it that made it so two individuals could create such beauty? What was it that made it so Octavia could make it? Was it love? That seems like the most appropriate answer. Octavia loved her mother, and her mother loved Octavia. Their bond was so close that they could act as one. So, does that mean that there was only one individual making beauty when Octavia and her mother would do so? Or did they simply act as one, but remain separate through the experience? Was the beauty that Octavia and her mom made more beautiful than that of which Octavia made by herself?

But then it hit her. Like sour note in the midst of a tutoring session.

Octavia made beauty with her cello. Octavia also made beauty with her mother. It was the bonding between the two that made the event beautiful. Octavia's mom got her this cello, so they have a direct connection. The cello is a stand in for her mother, acting as a portal through which her mom can reach through with her voice, in the form of a string being pulled. Each note was that of her mom's, acting out in the way a chord does when a bow is pulled across it. With each pull of the bow, Octavia's mother sings, and with it Octavia can form something beautiful. Each stroke makes the note she sings higher or lower, sometimes not even in a rhythm, sometimes Octavia would pull the bow just to hear her mother's voice, as she sung beside her. When Octavia finally gets a tune, and her mom's song is perfect, Octavia opens her mouth and sings alongside her. Each song more beautiful than the last.

But in the end, to others, it is music.

To Octavia, it is a hobby.

But to those who know it truest, it is beautiful.

Or is it just noise?