No words. My keyboard has turned into a strange kaleidoscope of symbols that refuse to congregate into the familiar pattern of sentences. There has been this noise, a faint rumour, barely above the whisper of a gentle breeze caressing a tree’s foliage. But then the sound sharpened, its volume raised by the passing of time and amplified by granite walls that always seem to appear on both sides of a path. It became so loud that an echo kicked in. I could no longer ignore the nature of the noise: these were drums, a thousand drums, beating like one, answering to each other, every moment louder than the previous in an overwhelming crescendo of yet unknown destination.
The sound is now deafening, its tempo increasingly mad, aggressive, creative, beautiful.
Then suddenly, the drums will stop. Absolute silence will fall unto a world momentarily deprived of rhythm, and time will stretch. Only for an instant. It will be crossroads. The moment will have come. The countdown will switch to a count-up. And then the wheels of time should start turning again. Only now, they could be different. Changed. Moved. Tuned.