The Wanderer Who Listened
The little wanderer walked and walked. Everywhere he went, the world was talking.
Bells went ding. Wheels went rattle. The whole town hummed and buzzed.
"So much noise," he said. "I can't hear a single thing."
So he hummed his own loud tune and walked even faster.
A rabbit tried to tell him something. But the wanderer hurried past, too busy to hear.
Then the road grew soft and hushed. The wanderer stopped.
He sat down on a mossy stone. He closed his eyes.
First, he heard his own breath. In. And out. Soft as a sleepy cloud.
A single leaf drifted down. Crinkle. Even falling had a sound.
Then came the rain. Pitter. Patter. Pat. He caught one drop in his hand.
Under the rain, he heard a small bird singing.
Far up a tree, a woodpecker went tap, tap, tap. It sounded like someone knocking to say good morning.
"You were here all along," he whispered. The bird sang a little louder.
The wind swept through the tall grass. Shhh, it said. Shhh. It's all right.
A little brook giggled over the pebbles. Glug, glug, glug. The wanderer cupped a hand to his ear.
The rabbit came back. "I tried to tell you something," it said. "I'm listening now," said the wanderer.
He listened to every word and said nothing at all. Listening, he found, is a kind of hug.
At dusk, far-off bells began to ring. A faraway song drifted up from the village.
Crickets sang. An owl said, Hoo. Hoo. Goodnight.
By the pond, a frog said Ribbit. Then another frog answered. They were talking to each other, and he was glad to listen.
The stars made no sound at all. He listened anyway, with his whole heart.
That night, he fell asleep to the softest sound of all. His own heartbeat. Thump. Thump.
Next morning, he walked a little slower, with his hood pushed back. The rabbit walked beside him.
The world was still full of noise. But now he knew where the quiet lived, and how to listen for it. The End.