Some ponies thought of crickets as nothing more than simple insects; beings that exist for the sole purpose of existing. Pinkie looked at them in a different light. To her, their quaint cantatas provided the perfect score for the Sun’s effulgent entrance. Their tranquil, yet chaotic symphonies were ringing out across the landscape with a more enlightened flair than their typical, groggy, monotonus droning. Every note seemed to hit the perfect resonance for such a twilight; minor chords for a bittersweet ballad. The sweet smell of dew nipped at her hooves and snuck its way into her nose, delicately massaging her olfactory nerves with their loving, aromatic touch. She was glad that there was such an excess of dew. The moisture would make Rainbow’s entrance a more ostentatious display than ever before. She could see the first wisps of Celestia’s nurturing rays peaking over the distant mountains and their incandescent, passionate glow made her heart pound ardently.
As was the case year after year, she had planted herself at the fork in the path: Directly on the point where the road to Ponyville splits. She faced down the path that would take a mobile pony to Canterlot, but she did not take a step past the invisible barrier she had concocted within her mind. Since she had first started to come here, on this day, waiting for Rainbow’s return, she had always planted herself five paces away from the signpost that read, “To Canterlot”. To some, it was a superstition, but to Pinkie it was a tradition: She would sit in the same spot every year, and every year Rainbow would come soaring down the path at the break of dawn. The pink mare was sure that if she took even a step forward, the outcome would stay the same, but it was more fun to hold on to the belief that even a single step would change everything.
A gentle breeze was blowing through the spring air and playfully kicking up a consistent cloud of dust. The farther the Sun rose above the mountains’ grasp, the clearer the dust became. If Pinkie squinted, she could make out individual specks of dust; tiny molecules that seemed so insignificant, and yet such a vital part of the whole atmosphere of the morning. If even one, minuscule dot of disheveled sediment was missing, then the entire aesthetic quality could be changed dramatically. Pinkie liked this idea: Everything had its purpose and, if even one part disappeared, the entire fabric would be fractured.
A quiet cough erupted behind her; far enough away for it to echo off the surrounding hillside in an eerie cadenza. Turning her head, she was just barely able to make out the bobbing form of a unicorn through loose strands of pink mane. As the unicorn grew closer, Pinkie’s smile grew: Twilight had always been one of her best friends and her company was always a sight for sore eyes. Twilight, like Pinkie, would always sit at the road to Canterlot on this particular morning to greet Rainbow upon her arrival. While the purple mare never shared the earth pony’s enthusiasm about the event, she was always there, sitting at the pink mare's side through good times and bad times. As the distance between them decreased, the pink earth pony could make out a bouquet of flowers, delicately held by the purple unicorn’s telekinetic grip. They shared a brief smile before Twilight lightly plopped down on the ground, parallel to the pink mare. A heavy plume of dust flew into the air, triggering another coughing fit from the unicorn.
Pinkie giggled at Twilight’s misfortunes, and the unicorn attempted to laugh along, but all that came out were raspy wheezes and tremulous coughs. After a couple of deep inhales, Twilight was able to catch her breath and the two mares were able to giggle together once more. Pinkie loved to laugh and it was moments of unadulterated glee like these that made her love her Element. The Sun was hanging halfway over the mountains and Pinkie could feel the moment she had been waiting for approaching like a stampede: She was practically bouncing in anticipation. Twilight remained stoic, a far more pensive smile emblazoned on her lips.
Every year the crescendo occurred sooner than the previous year - it was like the orchestra of time’s lungs were growing progressively weaker. It was obvious to Pinkie that, one day, the music was going to die out, and all the excitement and youthful exuberance would fade away into a static backdrop of melancholic white noise, but for now, she couldn't care less. Her heart was in her throat, as she looked down the road, awaiting the appearance of the source of her existence. The source of her happiness.
The source of her smile.
The rainbow bloomed with no sound and no fury. It spread from mountain peak to mountain peak, stretching itself over the sky. Nature rang out in a beautifully vibrant symphony: Birds provided the soaring melody, while Pinkie’s heart provided the throbbing bass. Twilight let out a harmonious, sad sigh as she stared at the rainbow, analyzing every bend and every tone. A rainbow such as this one shouldn’t be able to appear during this season. It shouldn’t be able to reach such a size, and it most certainly shouldn’t be able to shine with such a luminosity. However, after observing the look of childlike bliss on Pinkie’s face, Twilight chose to let science slide for once. Sure, a logical explanation could be easily found, but she didn’t want to ruin the moment for Pinkie.
Sighing, the unicorn lifted herself off of the path and placed a single hoof on the pink mare’s shoulder. Blue eyes met purple, and for a brief second, Twilight could have sworn she saw a brief hint of somberness flash through Pinkie’s irises. The earth pony slowly nodded, answering the question that neither felt the need to ask after all these years. A few strands of straight pink mane fell into the mare’s face as she nodded, but she quickly blew them away. Those straightened tendrils, those misty eyes, were for another time; this was a time for smiling, no matter how pained that smile may be.
Pinkie turned and walked away from the rainbow- away from the path and its unknown destination. Before following the earth pony, Twilight laid the bouquet against the signpost, and gave the rainbow one last look. Yet another wavering smile formed on her lips as she watched the spectral phenomena pierce the heavens. Rays of transcendental light seemed to emit from deep within the rainbow itself, and their chromatic beams bathed the world in a joyful aura. Her eyes drifted towards the signpost, and the two signs that resided upon it. She meticulously read and reread the sign that ran parallel to the road; every curve of every letter punching her in the gut as she traced the forlorn words that spelled out a reality she had long ago accepted, but still vehemently despised.
“Rainbow Dash Memorial Pathway.”
The trees sighed as the autumn breeze bent their weathered, wooden bones. Each momentary gust triggered a monsoon of lively scarlet and opulent purple; some of their faded, frail forms finding their way to an equally frail, faded pink face. She giggled at the childish leaves and giddily blew them off of her muzzle. Once they were airborne, she kept them floating in the sky for as long as her debilitated lungs would allow; it took all of five seconds for gravity to win the battle, but Pinkie was not bothered by the results in the slightest. An excess of giggles cascaded out of her wrinkled mouth and she found herself having to lean against a nearby spruce tree. Her laughing fit was relentlessly bombarded by the effects of aging; her lungs simply were not as strong as they used to be. She leaned her head back and felt the rough bark caress her sore neck. Was that how her skin felt? Was she like a tree? She felt another giggle threatening to break free of her diaphragm, but no amount of nostalgic bliss could trick her brain into letting it escape. The sound of popping joints echoed through the sea of coniferous trees as the pink mare tried to balance on her arthritic knees. Dawn was looming and she still had a long way to go.
Despite her age, Pinkie still managed to make her biannual trips to the spot: Once in spring and once more in autumn. She had to leave far earlier than she used to; sometimes leaving as early as the day before the spectral phenomenon was set to occur. In her youth, she could bounce down the path and reach her destination in all of thirty minutes. Now, she was lucky if she could hobble there in thirty hours. Still, she would always make it to the fork in the road, right as the crickets’ crescendo was reaching its apex. The Sun would peek over the distant peaks of the Azure Ridge Mountains, see the pink earth pony waiting idly, a feverish glaze to her blue eyes, and release the dazzling display of delectable defervescence that cooled the debilitating and scorching grief that always threatened to break through the party pony’s floodgates. She would leave Ponyville wearily, and return completely invigorated. However, despite these bizarre shifts in emotion, nopony raised an eyebrow: To them, it was simply Pinkie Pie being Pinkie Pie.
As she wandered down the path less traveled by, the pink mare briefly veered off, into a sea of flowers. She began to pick some of the wild and colorful plants, analyzing each specimen with the eye of an artist. One by one, she chose the four most vibrant species she could find, and carefully gripped them in her teeth. She was about to continue on her journey when she remembered that she was missing a flower. She let a disdain sigh escape her lips; for the first time she was going to have to pick five. She scanned the patch with teary eyes, and settled on a pulchritudinous lilac. Its leaves, a vivacious combination of purple and pink - a perfect fit. She added another flower to her bouquet, another name to the epitaph, and trotted further down the path to alleviation.
She reached the crossroads on cue. A faded orange glow was hovering above the horizon, increasing in intensity at a snail’s pace. The crickets were hidden amongst the brush, tuning up their spindly legs, waiting to begin the first movement of their masterpiece. It was a symphony that only one pony would ever hear, but a cricket never asks for a sold out crowd or a tidal wave of applause; a cricket simply supplies resonant beauty to a world that so desperately needs it. If she could, Pinkie would shake the hands of the crickets, but alas, she could simply whisper words of thanks and hope that the musical insects appreciated them. She reached the invisible barrier she had drawn in the dirt so many years ago and stood silently on wavering hooves: Sitting down would do nothing more than send a lightning bolt of pain through her nerves.
As she waited, alone, nature whispered to her. At first she tried to ignore it, but it soon reached a decibel level so immense that she had to pay attention; the birds squawked out soliloquies, the blowing wind provided the vowels, the rustling leaves sang out in nouns and a sudden warmth of unknown origin bathed her in a gentle shower of enkindling verbs. None of them spoke actual words, but the tone and pronunciation got the message across. Pinkie looked to the east, at the source of life that hung just out of sight, and knew what she had to do. Her blue, wet eyes turned their focus to the impenetrable barrier and she inhaled deeply. With a hop, skip, and a jump, she lifted her still-hesitent left foreleg, and pierced the veil. She did the same with each one of her limbs, and before she knew it, she had completely immersed herself in the void she had avoided for so long. She gave one last look to the world she had always known, before turning around and trotting down the path to a world she would learn to know.
With each step that Pinkie took, the Sun rose another inch in the sky. She had trotted over a multitude of hills, past an innumerable amount of trees and felt a constant, welcoming breeze blow through the crevices of her lively mane. There was little consistency in the world around her, but she either didn’t notice, or didn’t care: Oceans would appear out of nowhere, before vanishing a couple of steps later, and the grass and trees would vanish sporadically - being replace by an endless plain of sand and cacti. None of this made any logical sense, but to the pink mare, logical sense was a fallacy that she had dismissed long ago. This was a world of wonders.
She passed through swamps, deserts, forests, and, most importantly, memories. She walked past the rock farm she had grown up on, she walked past Sugarcube Corner, she walked past the library, Sweet Apple Acres and everything in between. She saw faces, too: Her parents, her sisters, the Cakes and every pony she had ever laid eyes on. They were all smiling, and she felt the unstoppable urge to hug each and every one of them, but they all motioned for her to keep moving down the path. It wounded her heart to pass them by, but she also knew that her destiny lay somewhere further down the road.
The world around her grew dark, as a swarm of coniferous trees formed a thick canopy above her. Even the sun could not pierce the darkness, and yet, despite her fears, she continued to smile, giggle and walk. She was now bounding down the layer of sediment, with rejuvenated youth coursing through her veins: For the first time in fifteen years, she was bouncing. With each bounce, she felt younger, and with each blink of her blue eyes, the darkened world began to increase in clarity. She was cackling like a foal in a candy shop: Her revived lungs providing her boundless glee with an endless supply of oxygen.
And then, the path ceased.
She was standing outside of a castle she had ventured to many years ago, with the five friends she had held closer than any pastry. She squealed in delight and ran into the main hall with an infectious jet-stream of laughter trailing behind her. When she had entered these halls, many seasons ago, it had been under much more dire circumstances; there had been no laughing, smiling or talking. The walls were mildewed and crumbling, and a sense of dread had hung in the air. However, now it looked like the castle of royalty: Every square inch of rock was encrusted with untarnished gold and the only aura the air carried was that of undiluted happiness. Pinkie knew where she was: Exactly where she wanted to be.
Princess Celestia, the matriarch of the Sun, was sitting in one throne, while her sister, Princess Luna, sat adjacent. Both of them beamed down at the pink mare with the warmth of a mother. Pinkie was too excited to speak and relied on her glowing blue eyes to do the talking. The regal sisters seemed to completely understand the pink mare’s silent, enthusiastic questions, and they both nodded simultaneously. Celestia motioned to a nearby door, and the pink pony vanished in a flash. As she flew through the door, the sixth crystal in the chandelier that hung above the thrones, illuminated. The Princess’ looked at each other and sighed; this generation, the most productive generation they had seen in millennia, had reached its inevitable, bittersweet conclusion.
Twilight Sparkle was in the midst of the climax of yet another story when Pinkie barged into the courtyard. Normally she would let any hugs wait until after she had finished the chapter, but the joy of seeing her old friend proved to be too much for the unicorn to resist. She laid her book down and embraced the earth pony in the strongest hug she could muster. Tears of happiness sprung to the eyes of each mare as they laughed and sobbed together. The hug could have lasted for eternity and, for all the two ponies knew, it may have gone on for that long, but eventually the mares split apart. They still had four more ponies to see.
The other reunions were equally warm. Applejack wrapped the partier in a strong bear hug that threatened to crush her ribs. Rarity had no qualms with hugging Pinkie, despite the fact that the earth pony was covered in mud, sap and countless other detestable things. Fluttershy had practically tackled the pink mare, the delight of seeing such a close friend after so many years overpowering her typical, timid behavior. After picking herself off the ground, Pinkie began to scan the sky for the familiar rainbow streak she had longed to see for decades. However, the cloudless sky was completely empty. Pinkie let out a forlorn sigh and looked to her friends, praying that they would give her positive news.
The four mares smiled at the pink mare and Fluttershy pointed towards a nearby hill. Pinkie couldn’t even enunciate her of excitement and gratitude, and she barreled up the hill, leaving the others in a cloud of dust; she hastily made a mental note to apologize later. The hill was tall, but sloped gently, and she made it to the pinnacle in ten seconds flat. She looked out, over the endless valleys of golden fields, pristine lakes and awe-inspiring mountain ranges. In the distance, she saw a brief distortion in the sky. She squinted, and could barely make out the form she had been waiting for for years.
The cyan pegasus swooped through the clear sky with the grace and intensity of a true athlete. She looped through the troposphere and ascended towards the heavens. She stopped at the zenith and dove back towards the earth. Pinkie felt her smile grow, and she began to bounce in anticipation.
An explosion of rainbow-light overtook the sky, and Pinkie’s already curly mane was blown back in the shock wave. Her smile grew and grew, and she could see a rainbow-streak heading straight for the hill.
Rainbow Dash landed just a few feet away from her, signature smile plastered on her lips. Pinkie could not control her gaiety, and the pegasus was on her back in a second, a shaking ball of pink clinging to her chest. Rainbow smiled at the sobbing pony and gently patted her quivering back until the tremors of grief and happiness subsided. The pegasus gently pushed the earth pony back and their eyes locked for the first time in a lifetime; two sets of quivering irises, painted with tears of elation. The other mares had made it up the hill by this time, and they all watched the scene of jubilation with their own misty eyes. One by one, they each trotted up to Pinkie and Rainbow, and formed a tight-knit circle of loving embracement. They held each other close as the Sun and Moon shone with insurmountable luminosity, and somewhere, off in the distance, a symphony of crickets were reaching yet another movement in their eternal concerto.
