An Echo Of Winter: A picture is worth a thousand words

WHAT I SEE: I see a man and woman in the forest covered with snow blowing their horns

WHAT I FEEL: I feel a connection between them as they play the horns

The woods were nearly lifeless, buried under thick snow cover which absorbed most of the sound. Ingrid straightened the thick woolen muffler around her neck, while standing next to Lars and slightly quirky hands engaged in entertaining her more than anticipating.

In front of them rested two old horns, whose long shafts had been smoothened by time and extensive use. These horns were kept in Lars’ family for ages, a memory of the days when people of the villages used to call each other across the valleys and mountains with their deep noise. Now, they were resurrecting a long forgotten practice, tiding their way to the past on the occasion of winter solstice.

The saying “It’s heavier than it looks” left Ingrid as she attempted to juggle the weight of the horn while Lars assisted her in it. With icy clouds huffing out of his mouth, he laughed. In his voice, he acknowledged that the horn had a certain amount of significance, which almost seemed sacred. ‘ That’s because it’s alive. This is not just a horn. It has the voices of every man who ever touched it in his life. When you blow through this war horn, you are talking to the forest. You are talking to the sky. You are talking to those who were here before’ Ingrid, for a moment gave him her doubtful look but did not speak otherwise. Indeed, she was not as traditional as Lars, but something about the place was really enchanting. It was as if the trees were mute witnesses to the entire affair, their branches weighed down by snow that had settled on their trunks.

Taking a deep breath drawing air into her lungs she exhaled strongly into the cold mouthpiece.

The sound that came out was deep, rumbling in the air as if the horn could summon a big animal. Hitting the trees it resonated traveling back and forth many times with different overtones it wasn’t pure when she blew out. Then, Ingrid stopped abruptly, turning to the darkness when she hears a sound.

“You know what, I heard this,” she stunned Lars into silence when she asked him “Did you hear that?”

Lars agreed and smiled and looked both proud and amazed at the same time. “It’s the forest answering. Try again.”

This time he carries his horn supporting her as he plays alongside her. The notes overlapped each other, going high and low like the rhythm of waves. It was as if the forest had gotten excited, for the air was actually warming up, as if the surrounding had some kind of energy within it. Ingrid sensed a tight feeling in the centre of her chest — a linkage, an attraction — almost as if the horn was opening up the organ inside her.

She shut her eyes, and listened to the music. She saw flashes of people she’d never met: a woman in a fur-lined cloak blowing the horn in a storm, a young boy blowing it on the green hillsides; people encamped around a fire with only reflections on their face. Every note had something personal within it, something that happened.

When she opened her eyes, he had been staring at her expectantly. “Can you still?” he whispered.

She nodded. That’s what it is like they are still there, and if it’s like that for them, then that is enough. For a moment Ingrid thinks she understands what Lars was trying to explain to her, maybe they are still with us.

Lots of love from jhymie 🥰