Kindling

Cinematic ambient music for the rage of clear sight. You see the house burning. You hear the crackling under the marble of their voices. They are strutting in the heat, certain of their rightness, and behind them the timbers are going. They will not turn. They will not look. You stand still and watch and your chest is tight with something between fury and grief, the wound of clear sight in a world that punishes paying attention.

This track is the witness's voice. The world before it knows it is burning, patient and waiting. The first opening of eyes, naked and unwavering. A long passage of carrying what's seen, the music speaking in phrases, with silence between, the witness walking forward one step at a time. A lament rises, without words because what is being lost has no language adequate to it. Then the fury, storm-wild, full force, the house burning and the witness refusing to turn away. Then the structure falls, and the silence after. The smoke remains, and does not lift.

Underneath the music, the fire breathes, woven in, not layered on top. Distant crackle. A single beam giving way at the apex. Wind through ruins in the aftermath. The living world outlasts what they are burning.

Come here when you have been seeing too clearly. Come here when nobody else can hear what you hear. Stay as long as you need.