Once, there was a boy who was born with four ears. Two were just like yours and mine, the ones that fan out like shells on the side of your head. But inside those, deep inside, there was another pair. They moved, furling and unfurling like roses or sea anemones and could sense quite different sounds.
This boy whose name was Michael could hear, as he lay in his pram, the wind singing its wide weary song, as it carried pollen across the park. He could hear the high ringing tones of the grass. As he became a little older and began to understand language, he understood that the wind and the grass, the trees and even the sun, sang songs containing language. Not words exactly, but they sang, and it meant something, to him at least.
’We are here…’ they sang, ‘we are with you…we are always alongside you’.
When he heard these songs, he felt joyful and safe. As he grew a little older, he discovered snails sang a slow squeaking song. The Ash tree in the garden had a particularly deep and sonorous voice. The daisies in the grass had their song, the ants and the worms had theirs. His mother would often look at him as he listened.
‘Look at Michael’ she would say. ‘What is he listening to do you think?’ His father and brother would shake their heads and laugh…..
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