One warm day in spring, a Raven sat on a branch. The sun was shining and he made sure to enjoy the feel of it on his jet black feathers. The Raven was happy, happier than he had been in a long time, the silence his only needed companion. In his joy, the Raven began to sing, broadcasting his voice through the park below, until it reached the ears of the old Hare, who was busy gathering food for the day. The Hare stopped in its tracks and looked up at the Raven with a look of distaste bunched up inside his eyes.

“What is that wretched noise?” the Hare said, pulling his long ears down, a feeble attempt to block out the noise.

“It’s my song. I am celebrating a beautiful day!” the Raven squawked again.

“Well stop that!” the Hare cried. “It’s giving me a headache!” Hurt, the Raven stopped its singing, retreating to the shadows of his tree. There the Raven slumped, his prior joy gone.

Minutes later, a streak of white in the sky caught his attention. He looked up and saw another bird sitting where he had just been. It was a Dove from what he could tell. The Dove was small, perfectly curved, and had feathers like silk. The Raven watched with interest as the Dove settled herself. Slowly, she drooped her head and let out a soft chirp, followed by the flow of a melancholic harmony. Once again, the old Hare looked up at the tree, but this time clapped with delight.

“Oh my, oh my! What a lovely song you sing Ms. Dove! Do continue!” he cheered. The Dove looked down at the Hare.

“Mr. Hare, you hear my song but you do not listen.” The Dove said softly. The Hare looked at her with a baffled expression before hopping away. Finally, the Raven revealed himself, causing a startled jump from the Dove.

“Don’t be alarmed, I mean no harm.” The Raven said.

“I know,” the Dove said.

“Do tell me, Ms. Dove, what did you mean when you told the old Hare that he does not listen to your song?” the Raven inquired. The Dove sighed.

“My song was beautiful, yes, but was layered with sadness and grief. I have suffered a great loss, and my melody was to express my sorrow. Mr. Hare only heard my beauty, but did not think to share my hurt.” the Dove explained.

“A similar thing happened to me,” the Raven said. “I wanted to share the warmth of this day so I sang. Unfortunately I was not blessed with your voice, and I, along with my happiness, was silenced.”

“What things people miss when they do not listen clearly,” sighed the Dove.

“Come, let me listen to your song. And when it is over, I shall share my joy with you. And together, we’ll feel OK again.” the Raven said. The Dove looked grateful, and the two took off together.