“The voice can be seen, growing the most beautiful things.”
“What do you mean?”
Megan took her by the hand and showed her canvases covered in geometries of fronds, curves of petals, skeletons of branches.
“Did you make these?”
Her eyes shone. “I sang them.”
Emily’s heart lifted with possibility. “Show me.”
She grinned and turned towards the large pipe shaped structure behind her. Putting her mouth to the stem, she sang to rival the nightingale.
Emily put a hand to her chest as the paint particles danced to Megan’s voice, painting her song for those who couldn’t hear it.
Leave a Reply