I love thee, sounds of Spring
I love thee, sounds of Fall
Yet I love thee evermore
When you play your songs
Of Storms and winter falls.
Prologue
Prelude
I do not know why it came to pass, yet I am happy that it did; I do not know what all-powerful entity caused it, but I am glad that He did. Twenty years ago, there was a storm that wreaked havoc on my town, but out of that storm came my love and passion for music. For in that storm were the sounds of a melody and a harmony that encompassed me for the rest of my life.
My name is Gallant Hatter. I am a small stallion unknown by most other ponies. I used to live in a town called Aurora before I moved to Ponyville. It was a modest place by the seashore and had a good ratio of comforts, be them rural or urban. The houses were quite large and were made from mainly wood and some brick on the foundation. Everypony knew everypony else, and newcomers were welcomed warmly.
I used to live inside a red painted house near the shore and a few miles from the demarcations of Aurora. My parents had only me, and I didn’t have many aunts or uncles, nor were my grandparents close enough to visit very often. I still saw them from time to time, and each time they visited I remember playing games and having a fun time. However, there is one memory that has stuck out the most for me. I remember that my grandpa was the only one over, since grandma had to stay home to take care of some business.
my parents had left the house by its lonesome, and only my grandpa and I were the ones keeping it company. We were in the living room where a set of couches, chairs, and a grand piano laid in silence. Instead of playing games, my grandpa decided to show me something. He took me over near the piano and sat himself on the chair. I remember he let out a sigh as he placed his hooves on the piano and placed a piece of paper in front of him.
I was a little colt of around three, yet I remember the sound of the music. It was sweet and soft, yet it was strong also. The notes slurred together, yet held some sort individuality within themselves. Even my little mind could understand these thoughts, and it found delight in them.
I remember when he first spoke after he played. His voice was like raspy sandpaper, and held a hint of ecstasy of words on it. I was sitting on the ground next to the piano, staring into his eyes that held a soft mystery to them. He smiled at me as I stared, and slowly gave the piece of paper on the piano to me.
“You have something in you,” he said. “I could sense your gaze behind me and how much you listened to it. Here, I want you to have this.”
He placed the paper into my hoof, and I slowly turned my gaze to it.
“This is music,” he said. “This little sheet of paper has music written on it, Gallant.”
I looked up at the top of the piece to see the title.
“Liszt: Un Sospiro.”
“A sigh,” he said, somehow knowing where my gaze looked to.
I then turned my eyes below the title. There my little mind tried to comprehend what it was seeing, but it could only come to the conclusion that it was seeing lines and dots. I squinted, still trying to read what was on the paper. The dots and lines swished about the paper in what seemed like random intervals. I sometimes saw a lightning symbol intermixed with the lines, and every time I saw it, it electrocuted my mind with more confusion.
I saw writing, but it was like the lines and dots. It was written in a foreign language; it meant nothing to me. The letters just began to mix themselves with everything else like ingredients in a stew that didn’t fit into the recipe. The only thing I could understand was the title, and even that turned into its own arbitrary language. This wasn’t a sigh; no, this was just nothing.
I couldn’t take it anymore. The random jumble of lines and letters made me feel like a failure. I felt the tears well up and my throat contract. I soon gave up on trying to hold back, and let the stream of tears come down my cheeks.
.
“I-- I can’t read it,” I said through my tears and hard breathing.
I felt my grandpa’s hoof being placed on my flank with gentle tenderness and love. It wasn’t harsh in anyway, and had an understanding to it.
“Now, now...” he began, rubbing my shoulder with assurance. “It’s ok. I wasn’t expecting you to understand it yet. But you will understand, child. If you truly wish to know, you will find a way to understand. In fact, promise me you will.” He moved his hoof near my head. “Promise me that you will understand. One day-- even if I’m gone-- you will understand and play that piece I have given you.”
I wiped away the tears and smiled at him. Without a word, I placed my little hoof on his wrinkled one.
With a sigh of happiness, he nods at me and the memory fades.
After that, things continued as usual in Aurora. I still held onto the sheet of music, but I soon got tied up into daily matters. I was swept into a sort of childhood paradise.
Indeed, Aurora truly was paradise for me. You could always go out someplace and not worry about ill-intentioned wanderers. The forests and seashores were always welcoming and had a hue to them that always made them look alive. The markets were full of many caring ponies and always had excitement within them. If one were to see the sunset on any given day, one would stare in ecstasy as the final rays of the sun touched the sparkling ocean.
The only regrettable thing of paradise was that it was a lonely place sometimes.
However, there was a friend of mine that always kept me company. She used to live next door. Her house was around the size of ours, and was colored a golden yellow that reflected the sun’s rays. I never saw her parents for some reason, yet I am quite sure they were around some place. Her name was, and I suppose still is, Octavia. Yeah, I knew Octavia when she was a filly, and heard her play the piano.
She used to live in Aurora before she moved to Canterlot. For five years she lived next to me, playing many melodies inside her house.
I remember the first time we met.
I stood outside in the cool of a tree, relaxing. The sun was at its zenith and the grass was swaying to and fro in the light breeze. A white picket fence stood out in front of me as I laid inside the shade of the tree. The fence marked the border between my house and Octavia’s house, and also the two houses.
My ears caught a soft melody coming from Octavia’s house, and my mind depicted a vision of a cloud. I had been doing this for well over an hour; silently and patiently listening to her music. I crossed my hooves, closed my eyes shut, and let my body slump onto the tree.
I wanted the music to continue forever; a never ending melody. However, I knew this could never be; and it was true, for the music abruptly stopped after that thought. I stood up immediately and let out a slight whine of discontent. My eyes were wide open now, and I was stomping the ground with my hooves.
“Not fair,” I said to myself. “That is not fair at all!”
I mumbled some more of my discontent before I began to walk out of from the shade and back to my house. However, my body completely froze when I heard sound of the backdoor of Octavia’s house open. I turned around to see that Octavia was near the door, looking directly at me.
“Now wait just one moment there!” she cried. “Get your flank over here, now!”
My heart skipped a beat, my breaths becoming rigid as I slowly moved towards her. The fence between us began to grow in size, and my eyes went low to the ground. I made my way to the fence, making sure that each hoofstep went only a few inches. Still, the journey only took a few seconds, for when I turned my head up slightly I saw that she was right in the middle of my vision.
“Are you the pony that I’ve seen stare at my house?”
I flinched; she knew.
“How did you--?” I began, before my lips ran dry and I couldn’t speak.
“You don’t hide yourself well; I can see you out the window.”
I blushed and felt my heartbeat going wild.
“Why are you doing it?” she asked. “It’s completely weird for a complete stranger to be looking at somepony’s house like that.”
My mouth does not answer, and I can’t think straight. The world turns around me, and the picket fence becomes a white haze of nothing. I stutter out words, but they are like the fence; they mean nothing.
“Well?” asked her voice through the haze. “What do you have to say?”
“I-- I--” My face contorts as I tried to place another word in my sentence. “Mu-- music!”
As I said this, the world around me began to clear itself up. The drum of my heart turned into a soft buzzing, and the only thing I noticed was Octavia’s confused face.
“Wha-- what do you mean?” she asked.
“Your music,” I said, much clearer than before. “I listen to you play.”
I see in her eyes, for the first time, that she is shocked. Moments before she had blazing eyes mixed with dignity, but now, in a complete turn of events, they had evolved into opaque orbs of surprise. I smiled faintly, and felt my cheeks turn red hot.
“You-- you listened to me?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Why is that such a surprise? Your music is amazing!”
It is now her turn to brush, and I can hear her hooves slightly rustling the grass. “I just never have been complimented before on my music.”
“Not even by your parents?”
“Only a few times, but those were a long time ago...”
Her eyes turned from the opaque orbs and changed into blacken ones for a moment. However, it was only for a moment because her eyes quickly lighted back into their original blaze.
“Well then, I do thank you for not being a creeper!”
My eyes widened at the sudden friendliness of her voice, and I couldn’t help but open my jaw wide open for the flies.
“Wait-- what?”
She let out a laugh at my sudden lost of words, and the only thing I could do was stand there like a statue.
“That is my way of thanking you,” she said. “You know, for listening to my ‘performance’.”
“Oh, right...”
She snickered again. “Say... if you do like the way I play, how about I do one more piece for you!”
My ears perked up from the this, and I felt like jumping. “Rea-- really?!”
“Of course!” she cried. “How does Hungarian Rhapsody sound to you?”
“err... alright!”
I had never heard of the piece, but by the slight eagerness of her voice I couldn’t help but hear her play it.
“Great! I have just learned it not too long ago, and I always wanted an audience!” She quickly backtracked towards the back door of her house as she said this. “Don’t go anywhere! Just get comfortable near that tree of yours, and I will be playing within a moment.”
Before I could respond, she was already gone. I blew a huff of air on my face, and turned back towards the tree. I swayed somewhat as I walked, for my mind was still thinking on what just happened. The trip to the tree was longer than the trip to the picket fence, and my hooves ached as I quietly leaned on the tree.
“Well...” I said to myself. “Might as well get comfortable...”
I sat back in my original position: placing my hooves over themselves, and placing my head on the tree. My ears perked up, and I held every sort of sound my body could make so that only Octavia’s piano would be heard.
For a moment there was nothing but the calming breath of the wind, and then, just like lighting, the music commenced. My heart leaped as the first chord of the piece was struck, sending electricity down my spine. I had never heard a piece that impacted me so quickly with its notes. This feeling also didn’t decrease either, but only increased as the piece progressed.
how can a pony play this good? I asked myself.
As I thought this, the music changed from controlled passion into an outburst of excitement. My mind went on the fritz like a pony being kissed by their first love. I pressed my hoof on my chest, thinking it would burst at any moment. The thrill and sound of the piano was beyond deafening, and I was surprised that nopony but myself could hear it. And then, as quick as it started, the music stopped.
I moved my head ever so slowly, my eyes trying to focus back to Octavia’s house. I saw the blurred lines of the door move outward and Octavia moving out from them. I slowly moved back on my hooves, for my entire body was still shaking from the sound. Octavia and I seemed to have been walking the same pace, for both of us reached the picket fence at the same time.
“So...” I heard Octavia’s voice say. “What did you think.”
I let out a breath that my voice was caught to. “Amazing...!”
My eyes cleared finally, and the first thing they saw were the red cheeks of Octavia. She a nodded a quick nod before turning once again to her house.
“We should hang out sometime,” said Octavia. “Y’know, as friends...”
I formed an O with my mouth for a moment before quickly turning it into a smile. “Of course!”
She nodded again. “Well... I better head inside.”
As she closed the door for the final time, the memory ends.
After that encounter, we became close friends.
We would play around the market place, gaining perplexed stares at us. She would come to my house from time to time and play the piano; she would play a different piece every time, and you didn’t know what it was going to be! If it we weren’t doing any of those two, we would be just talking about random stuff such as past school years, past summers, and what would we thought we would be doing in the future.
Before she disappeared, she gave me a piece she was writing. I remember that conversation, for it would be the last one I would have with her before her disappearance.
I remember that the sun’s rays were shining down through the living room window, placing their long fingers on the wood of the piano. The living room itself was empty of furniture save for the piano and a small couch. Octavia was seated in front of the piano and playing a slow melody. As she played, I watched her hooves slowly move up and down, touching each keys with precision. The light seemed to dim on the performances and the music permeated the air. The music crescendoed, then decrescendoeddown until there was no other sound but the soft hum of a single C note.
When she finished, she stood up straight and basked in the afterglow of the moment.
“Wow,” was all I said.
She turned around and smiled at me.
“I’m glad you liked it!” she said. “Here: for being such a good listener, I want you to have this!”
She moved her head and gently placed the sheet music in her hooves. She looked at it, gave a slight smile, and then gave it to me. I gently placed my hooves over it and read it.
It was simple to look at, yet in its notes was the passion of a growing musician. Its flow was serene and slow, just as a prelude should be. However, in that slow pace was a growing passion just waiting to burst free. Its thoughts were as clear as the sun outdoors, and yet held a mystery of its own.
I moved my head up at her and nodded.
“This is nice,” I said. “You wrote all of this?”
“Yes,” said Octavia. “All of it.”
I placed the sheet music in my pack and smiled.
“It really is nice, Octavia,” I said. “I hope to see a lot more of it.”
“Don’t worry, you will,” she replied. “This is just a prelude to a series of movements that I’m going to write. I don’t know what to call the entire thing...”
There was a pause of silence, and then I said: “What about Storm Impromptu?”
The title didn’t sound right to me, but this didn’t stop Octvia from whirling her head at me and gawking. My world was blurred in shades of different colors as she suddenly grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me.
“Yes!” she cried. “That’s perfect; that’s absolutely perfect! Thank you, Gallant.”
I felt the shaking stop finally, and saw that she had placed her entire body on mine and was now hugging me. My mind went blank for a moment, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do next. The only impulse that came to me in that was to embrace her also, and, with no other plan, I did this...
I never saw her again after that. One day I entered her home and saw the entire place abandoned. The house was stripped of its furniture and any familiar atmosphere that used to be there was gone. Any echo of hoof-falls had disappeared, and any source of music had disappeared from the place.
However, her music stayed with me. The melodies that she had played continued to play in my mind, and not just those melodies but many others that seemed to have come from nowhere. They buzz in my mind, little keys and strings playing in paces both quick and slow. I know for a fact that those little notes are the reason why I live today, because I am still here to write this story. They warned me in their tempo, they warned me in their mood, and they warned me in their voice.
Some would call this crazy, but I think it was just crazy enough to work. And indeed it did work, since I am still here to write this.
Still, back then I couldn’t say I truly understood music. If someone asked my past self, he would have probably said it just “affected” him.
I remember a conversation with Octavia that happened a week before the first conversation.
We were sitting on the couch, thinking to ourselves. We were just a filly and colt, yet we felt like adults as we laid there. We turned our eyes to see that the piano had gathered a thick layer of dust. The trees outside were rustling, and the soft noise of the seashore could be heard along with it.
Spring was at its highest, and one could see the leaves outside window swaying in the breeze, Suddenly, I heard Octavia sigh.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Oh... nothing,” she said dreamily. “I’m just wondering about a lot of things.”
“Oh, like what?”
“Mainly melodies.”
I tilted my head for a moment.I turned my eyes towards the window, and saw the sun slowly move down towards the horizon.
“Melodies?” I asked, moving my gaze back to her.
“Yes, melodies.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She chuckled. “Sorry, I’m a bit in a daze. What I mean by ‘melodies’ is on how the sound of music seems to be in daily life: the twitter of the birds at midday, the sound of rustling leaves in summer and fall, the boom of lightning, and the soft humming of bees; all of it seems to be a bunch of melodies to me. Even the sorrows of life seem to have melodies of their own: the dirge of winter, the buzzing of flies, the silent hums of night, and the cracking of dead leaves and bones.”
She took a deep breath. “You see, I always hear those melodies in my head. Sometimes I begin to dance them, and sometimes I just stand there and listen. The melodies are their own energy, and they are the source of light and life to me. Oh they are just-- oh, Gallant! Are you alright?”
I was alright; I was just looking down at the floor in deep thought as she spoke.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I was just thinking on what you just said: you know, on how melodies seem to be in everyday life.”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Well... I kind of wish I had your perceptiveness on those things. I’m trying to relate to what you’re saying, it’s just tough for me because I’m not good as listening to music as you are.”
She huffed at me.“Then why do you listen to me if you’re not good at listening to music?”
“I don’t know, maybe it’s different.”
“Gallant, it’s not different. You just need to listen a bit more.”
“How?” I asked.
“I’ll teach you somehow, someday....”
---
The memory fades away and I’m back in my home twenty years later. I have now just realized what that conversation meant, and now I feel foolish that I didn’t understand it till now.... She was trying to teach me the true sound of music. This true sound is the sound of life: the buzzing of bees, the sound of running water, and other such things.
Life is music, and music is life. Everything is a melody, and everything is a harmony. Octavia was trying to teach me this by “listening”. Such a simple notion all of this is, yet it took me so long to figure it out. It is the reason why music has feelings, because it emulates perfectly the smells and senses of the world for the ear.
Maybe to understand the sounds of life, one must see the face of death. That face is the storm.
Everything she had said now makes sense only after that storm! It was an awful thing, yes, but without it I don’t think I would be here writing this down. It was that storm where I faced death and nature at once, and where all the melodies and harmonies melted together into one being.
There is one more conversation that I remember having before the storm arrived; it was a small one, but I remember it almost as well as the others. It was one day after the previous conversation.
We were outside, just walking along the shores nearby the village. She told me that we were down at the beach today because she wanted to teach me a little bit of “listening to sound.” She told me to not speak unless I thought something needed to be said.
The roar of the sea swallowed up the silence from our voices and magnified itself. The sun was at its zenith and gazing down upon us as we walked. We were now away from the boundaries of Aurora and out where the woods were. While the sea roared, the trees also seemed to place a harmony in their rustling. I looked towards Octavia, and saw in her eyes that she was taking in the entire scene. I tried to emulate her serene and thoughtful perception, but all I heard were the sounds of the sea, of the trees, and nothing more.
It was like this for what seemed like forever: just the two of us, taking in the cool of the sea and the brilliant colors throughout it. I looked out towards the horizon and saw a single strip of gray on it. I believed that Octavia was also looking because she broke the hour of silence.
“Looks like a storm might be coming...”
“Maybe,” I said, my voice sounding louder than usual. “But we haven’t had one here for quite some time. I believe the last one was ten years ago...”
“We might be due,” she said ominously. “Let’s keep going.”
I nodded and continued to walk with her. After a few minutes, she stopped. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Listen,” she said. “Close your eyes, and listen.”
I followed her orders and closed my eyes. When I did, the sound of the trees and sea increased. I still didn’t understand what I was supposed to listen to.
“What do you feel?” she asked.
“Silly,” I huffed.
Even with my eyes closed, I could feel her roll her eyes at my statement.
“Can’t you hear the sounds of waves and trees?”
Of course I could, that’s what I’d been hearing during the entire walk. “Yes.”
“No you don’t,” she said. “You only hear their sounds, not their music. Can’t you hear it, Gallant? Can’t you hear the motion of the waves create a monstrous melody with the tranquil harmony of the trees? Can’t you hear the beat of the wind and your heart placing a strong bass into the two? Gallant, can’t you hear any of that?”
I sighed and listened harder. Just then, the sea and the trees did begin to resound as something back into it my ears. It was something of a soft thump; it was something primal in nature. I also began to hear the wind intermix with the thump and a sudden thought came to my mind.
The whisper, the whimper,
all that can be said.
Caught in two worlds,
but neither in the other.
Where I got that, I still don’t know.
When I heard this verse, the sound became quite clear to me for a moment. For just one moment, I understood what Octavia meant by listening. The rustling jumped into somewhat of a dance, and the sea roared with the voices of a thousand ponies praising something.
Then after that moment, those sounds disappeared.
“Did you hear anything now?” asked Octavia.
I was holding my breath the whole time and quickly breathed when she spoke.
“Yeah--” I said between breaths. “I think I did hear something.”
I heard her giggle a bit and I eventually recovered.
“Well, I think that’s all for today. It’s getting kind of late, and I think we should head home.”
I nodded in agreement and we quickly turned ourselves back towards the direction of the town.
---
Not much happened after that, but I do remember that I did become a bit more perceptive. Nevertheless, it took some time before I truly understood the sounds I heard.
If anything had come out of these events, it was that I have come to see the world through Octavia’s eyes. I now know what she meant by all her talk on music; it was to show me a different light on life. It was a different way of enjoying life and mourning death. It was the way of giving life to tree leaves and wave.
I can go on and on about it, yet I don’t think I can ever describe truly what I’ve felt.
Indeed, she was the prelude within the prelude; the sound of spring and fall intermixed into one. She was the bringer of hope, and the bringer of despair. In summary, she is the cornerstone of all of these things. This is not a simple thought, but in all of it there is truth.
I don’t know why Octavia showed me these things, but I am glad that she did; I do not know if something magical happened, but I am happy that this story came together somehow. For in all of these events lies my life, which brings about this work.
Before the storm, there was music; and before even that, there was inspiration. In that inspiration the prelude sparked into life, and in the storm the movements of the music commenced. If you shall ever read this Octavia, I wish to thank you for what you have done for me. I hope to one day see you once before the end and help you in anyway I can, just as you have helped me.
Let this unknown pony show his words to you, let him show you his storm and the way it crenscendos. Let him share you a story of music, just as it has been shown to him.
sincerelyfake:
All of this repeats details you've said already. r.d.
cheezesauce pony:
This description lacks impact, it's difficult to for the reader to feel all this out.
