August 2005

August 17, 2005 05:54

Ylang's Song

Once on a time there was an orphan girl named Ylang. She was very beautiful, but always silent. She spoke rarely, and only when it was absolutely necessary.

Ever since she was a child, Ylang spent most of her time listening to songs:

She listened to the song of other children as they laughed and played in the street.

She listened to the song of the rustling leaves of the acacia trees.

She listened to the song whispered by the rays of the sun as it rose in the sky.

Everything that existed, she learned, had a secret song that was all its own; a special song that was meant for it alone.

Ylang was thrilled to discover the secret songs of the things around her. But inside, she was unhappy, because although everything had a song, she had yet to find her own.

“Come play with us,” the children would say as they passed her in the street.

“Sorry, I cannot, for I am looking for my song.”

“Come dance with us,” the acacia leaves would say as she walked under them.

“Sorry, I cannot, for I am looking for my song.”

“Come laugh with us,” giggled the sun’s rays in the morning.

“I am truly sorry, but I cannot, for I am looking for my song.”

But one day there passed a violinist by the name of Lucas. Ylang found him sitting on a stone, playing to himself.

He seemed very happy, but she noticed that he had only one leg. She hesitated to talk, unsure if it was absolutely necessary to speak, but curiosity got the better of her and finally she asked:

"Do you miss your leg?"

"Oh yes, always." He said.

"Sometimes, when it rains, or when it is very very cold, I even feel as if it's still there."

"Does the pain ever go away?" she asked again.

"Yes, over time. But you always miss those things that are dear to you. But I have my violin to keep me company, and when I play I feel whole again."

Lucas looked down at Ylang and touched her head.

“Here, let me play you something,” Lucas said.

He picked up his violin and began to play. He played an old lullaby, of the kind sung by mothers to put their children to sleep.

Ylang closed her eyes and thought about her mother. She remembered her mother’s face, warm and comforting. She remembered that whenever she cried, her mother would carry her and sing her the same lullaby. It was a song meant just for her. In it was mingled the welcoming laughter of children, the comforting rustling of leaves, and the warm embrace of the dawn sun.

Ylang had found her song at last.

6 replies | Archive link

More entries: October 2005 • June 2005

August 2005

August 17, 2005 05:54

Subscribe

Laurie's Books