Monday, November 16, 2015

Don't Listen

"Don't listen to the singing," his mother warned. "Whatever you do, don't listen."

She held his face with her two hands and stared into his eyes, large now with fright. "Promise me?"

He stammered out a promise. A promise in the end, that he could not keep.

The singing was so beautiful. A woman's voice, a young woman, perhaps a girl, her lovely voice floated out across the meadow delicately, like butterflies painting the air with a rainbow of colors. The words were strange, a language he did not understand, but felt, felt deep, deep inside.

He listened.

In Solidarity with France