It was a cold February morning, when I heard it for the first time. The sunrise was probably beautiful somewhere, where I was I could not see it. Grey clouds draped the sky in a monotone blanket, blinding snow covered the world, and in the muted morning light everything was permeated by a soft and subtle silvery blue hue. It was an echo I heard.
Perhaps it had been the beat of my own heart, I am not sure. When I closed my eyes and simply breathed I could hear it, an echo as if someone was knocking on the sky. It was a heavy sound, the knocking that reverberated through me, rattling my bones. In any case, I was walking, snow crunching underfoot.
I have always liked snow. More than how it lights up the dark heart of winter I appreciate the cold. I have never had much fire in my blood. Perhaps that is why my eyes are frosty. I was in my right element that morning, to say the least, and I guess that was why it didn’t come as a surprise.
Hearing the echo was unexpected, though, and it was novel. It made me aware that I still carry with me an inner darkness that I believed I had already vanuished. Then again, the darkness of the human heart shouldn’t come as a surprise to anybody. Perhaps equally telling, is the fact that the warmth we all eventually find is much more unexpected.
I charged myself with cold energy, I let cold air wash over naked skin. I breathed with closed eyes, and listened to the beating of the sky.