At The Gate Of All Wonder, Kevin McIlvoy
We both made the effort to hear what she heard. Something below her: skunks and rabbits moving cautiously, grubbing and chewing but twitching from fearful alertness; grasshoppers sawing at themselves, hitting more flats than sharps, and all at once going off like mines. Something beyond her and well beyond us: the woofings of a bear and of bear cubs; the hundred servile creatures giving specific, encoded sonic responses for the sake of discriminate warnings of their territories. Something all around: the throngs of terrestrial and aquatic insects attuned to the encasings they had worn, to the flowing water currents spitting them up into the reaching air that dried their new and already dying skin. When we humans have lost the last notes of this earth's singing, we will have lost all evidence of it in each other's voices. Only human saying will be possible, only human noise will exist. When nature is gone from human nature, everything sacred our hearing once experienced will be replaced by maddening deafness.
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