Every movie these days has a soundtrack. Boy kisses girl. Action packed fight scene. Approaching ax murderer. Moment of revelation. They all have their own scores.
I was walking home from the gym in the snow the other evening. The music that I was listening to on the treadmill still blared in my ears. A song came on: you know, one of those about living like you’re dying. Something about the song, my personal soundtrack, made me stop and lift my face up to the darkened sky and taste the snowflakes on my tongue. Made me watch my feet crunch into the layers of snow that had been forming for days. Made me soak it in.
As I basked in this new appreciation of what was otherwise just a snowy day, I wondered why we don’t have our own personal soundtracks. Then it occurred to me where music may have originated. In a still forest, a young woman walks back from getting water at the stream. The crisp air, the quiet stillness fill her with emotion. Maybe she sang the first human song. Her own personal soundtrack, not available on i-tunes.
