Crumrine the Shepherd sat down on his favorite boulder and surveyed
 the flock.  "All sheep present and accounted for," he said to
 himself with satisfaction.  The wooly creatures grazed the field
 contentedly.

 A silver metal bird flew up to Crumrine, perched on his shoulder,
 and whispered something in the shepherd's ear.  Crumrine nodded,
 whispered something in reply, and gave the little creature a pat on
 the head.  It flew off, leisurely circling the boulder a few times
 before heading south toward the mountains.  Soon it had disappeared
 from view.

 The bird's message had been from his old friend Ongerleen, whom
 Crumrine never saw, not since he'd moved to the distant village on
 the other side of the mountains.  It is so good to hear from friends,
 thought Crumrine.  This was the first message from Ongerleen in a
 long time, and Crumrine was pleased that Ongerleen was doing well.

 And then, the sound of beautiful music from the direction of the
 forest.  "Ah, the trees are singing again," said Crumrine with a
 smile, "and I am a happy man."

1 responses total.

Hearing trees sing, he should be happy.  I would be happy to hear trees sing.
Hearing trees talk, though, would make me unhappy.

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