airiswano

    The sound of a sword has always been my favorite.    The rhythms and beats that circle through my head are never mine to command until I wield a blade. When I pick up a sword I suddenly know where I am going, what I'm doing and what to do next. I can point the sword in any direction I want and go there. I am in command wielding such a simple, beautiful, deadly tool.    And so I stand, here in my courtyard, on the eve of my death, sword in hand, listening carefully to its secrets.    Swords, like all other things, have their own unique array of sounds. I spin it slowly through crossing strikes in front of me, and it whirrs quietly. A