Chantlings
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Chantlings
“Through my enchanting, through my singing, through my conjuring of consciousness, of... See more
Singing to the Plants,
Mishak was not musical. Silence was his metier; he navigated through the day by gentle sounds: a thrush outside the window, the fall of rain, the whirr of a lawn-mower. Now, as Heini pounded his piano, he was cut off from all these.
It’s not at all unheard of for the flutes to imitate the sound of a kettle when they decide it’s time for tea, or to whistle out the tune of laughter when a hapless outsider walks across the hall. It’s all part of the humour of the pit, and it’s a chance to liven things up a bit too.