Kathleen adored the meadow outside her house in Somerset. The rustling, the chirping, the sweet smell of earth whispered music to her. Her mother could see this and decided it was time.
That night—no bomb scare on the radio, no blaring overhead—Mrs. Driscoll put five-year-old Kathleen to bed with great anticipation.
“Promise me you’ll listen,” Mrs. Driscoll said.
“All night?” Kathleen asked.
“Until you sleep. Like you do with the sounds of the meadow. Don’t get out of bed.”
“Why?”
“If you do as I ask, I’ll have a surprise for you in the morning.”
Lisa Kirazian 