The snow had a way of swallowing sound in the Dwar. It enveloped the world in its snow-white purity, cleansing it of noise, persisting only in silence. It was bold, heaping itself over roofs, roads, and the walls, until even the mountains in the distance looked smothered and half-drowned.
James stood braving the fierce wind, in rumination as it howled all around him. His gaze was turned skyward, the heavens the colour of old steel, pressing its weight down upon the valley. Each breath stabbed at his lungs; it went in sharp and came out as a faint ghost, torn away by the wind before it had time to take shape.
In this rumination he remembered faintly the words of his mother. Of the duality of the inhale and of the exhale, and to subdue the storm raging in his mind he tried desperately to recollect what it was that she had said exactly. He thought of when he used to play on the swings with her, when she was teaching him how to swing by himself.
“There are but two forces in this world, ▇▇▇. A push–”And she would give him a big push.
“And a pull.”She’d say with a smile as James made his way back to her.
“Do an exercise for me ▇▇▇, my love.”James would look at her with quiet anticipation. His mum had a beautiful soul, and its very essence seemed to permeate outwards, radiating from every facet of her being. He remembered her soft, orange hair- how it gave a warm glow, and when the afternoon sun would ever so kindly grace the Dwar he remembered her in the way it seeped through the sills and coated everything in that warm, gentle light.
“Breathe out as you are pushed, as I push you; And breathe in as you are pulled in, back to me.”