“Daddy, I hear Crickets” she said.
Her hand rested in mine as we walked home from the Farmer’s Market. We could still hear the band playing classic rock, the words indistinguishable, the music rising and falling behind us.
“I hear them too. Sometimes you have to be still to hear things. Do you know how to be still?” I asked.
She froze in her tracks, her hand gone motionless in mine, her limbs unmoving. The sounds of the crickets seemed to rise around us, the distant music receded, the wind rustled through the leaves of a tree. She smiled.
I smiled back and said, “When you’re still outside, you can hear things outside.” I touched my chest, “When you’re still inside, you can hear things inside.”
She nodded and we walked on, hand in hand.