Thovin

Pilgrims of the First Dawn

Before the Sun knew its name

There was a time before stories were written, before even names existed. In that time, something changed. The sunrise became more than light for survival. It became awe. I imagined a small group returning each morning. Not for shelter. Not for food. But to perform a ritual. To walk in procession. To greet the light. A beginning.

This piece follows that imagined journey. It moves from the hush of predawn to the first burst of sunlight. A slow, steady cadence runs through it, like footsteps in ceremony. Ambient textures give way to orchestral swells. The music evokes a time when the sacred was wonder, before words existed.

In spite of

 

I started this piece after returning from a few days in nature. Hours later, I found myself standing with my bike on a train platform, surrounded by the roar of traffic. The contrast was stark. Peace was still echoing in my ears while the world pressed in, hellishly loud and chaotic.

In spite of is about that feeling. About something fragile and alive pushing up through concrete. Like a wildflower blooming in a crack. Not because it should, but because it can. Many of us feel like that at this moment. Not in protest, just because it must.

Wanderline Local

Inner Drift

A memory steeped in misty fields and distant hedgerows beneath the morning sun; my daily commute through Surrey's bucolic heart.