Where The World Began

My world began with the marriage of frost and harmony. Winter's chill and melody's warmth. It began during the early hours of Christmas morning five years ago, in the domestic comfort of my living room. While snowflakes cascaded like fallen angels outside our frosted windowpanes, my family and I huddled together like refugees from the ferocious elements. We had, or so I thought, concluded the exchange of gifts and gratitude, leaving disheveled tatters of wrapping paper strewn across the floor. While I was certainly pleased by my influx in worldly possessions, my curiosity had been piqued by certain accessories I had received for the electric guitar. This would have made much more sense had such an item actually been in my possession. When confronted with my inquisition, my parents confessed to having heard rustling in my father's office the evening previous. Upon inspection, it was revealed that "Santa" had deposited a yellow Mexican Stratocaster copy behind my father's desk. In the fury of winter, the Strat was sunshine. That yellow Mexican Stratocaster was sunshine itself. With an imploring tone, I managed to persuade my parents that it wasn't, as they persisted in believing, too early on Christmas morning for rock'n'roll. Snap. My patch chord made loving contact with the guitar's socket. Buzz. The static hum of feedback waiting to be released from the pocket-sized amp grew in a compelling crescendo and...Crash! Strumming a solitary power chord, windmilling with an ecstatic triumph, I felt like Hendrix at Monterey. As I clumsily punched out the riff to Smoke on the Water, I was Blackmore, Live in Japan. The falling snow was a captive audience, thunderclaps my rapturous applause. As I picked out distorted melodies, strumming mindlessly on fuzzed-out chords, my parents looked on, bemusedly resigned to the sacrifice of their quiet morning. Even at the end of that day, that amazing day of falling snow and an oasis of noise, as I fell asleep with a ray of sunshine in my arms, I had ensured that it would be anything but a silent night.