Footsteps echo down a corridor as synthesised waves rise uniformly from the cloudy day outside, at some point becoming indistinguishable from the drops of water that bounce from the windows. Rising, falling, rising again; taking a moment to linger before the cycle repeats. With one pause, a voice breaks through. “Whatever happens, just be.”
As you wander on, voices wash past with the resonance of an understated significance, drawing thoughts from the pools of history to see what patterns the resulting ripples design. These voices called you here, yet they seek no recognition, ushering you on with unerring restraint to continue along the weaving path. A tone of sadness rings out, but each oscillation brings with it an unmistakable harmony, the defiant rise of joy.
At times you move on alone, travelling confidently through walls of foliage and into open fields. On occasion, subdued choirs and lone visionaries appear, nudging you forwards after you’ve caught your breath, but for the main part they are just an accentuation of the rhythm that you have already found. Bleeding through the crisp air like the red sun falling into the darkening earth ahead, there’s a brightness to each breathy melody; a brightness that remains even after the last vibration has ceased.
One last look back reveals the ground you’ve covered, and the multitude of textures that you’ve traversed. With a final venture forward, you break through to sweeping plains once more, empty save for the buzz of an obscured memory attempting to re-emerge. It feels familiar here, but the footsteps have long since stopped echoing. The end is not important. The beauty lies in the journey.