Three

He came into the world singing his song, and was raised surrounded by song.

Where did the song come from, and why did it persist in all its beauty and mystery?

He followed the song, across town, through the fields, and over the mountains. He reached the sea.

He built his ship while humming the song.

He assembled a crew and they set sail playing a song.

When the stormclouds gathered the crew left, one by one. For a time it was silent.

He remained through the storm, awake all night until he saw the rising sun.

He sailed along, but the ship was silent. The instruments sloshed about caked in salt and seaweed.

The song played on somewhere, now more distant, across the vast expanse of blue and green.

He vowed to find the song. He would enter the depths of the song.

Then he would be home.

But first he needed to mend the ship. Rig new sails. Right the rudder.

It can’t be done without my song, he said.

Yet he persists. And succeeds.

The work is done. His face and bare shoulders burnt by the sun, his hands rough and calloused.

He unfurls the sails and sets a course in the direction of the song.

Invigorated, he untangles the instruments, ready to play his tune.

But he is too worn out, and his instrument too badly damaged.

He starts to sing. His voice hoarse and choked, he sings his song.

Again, storm clouds gather on the horizon.