I know of a place by the river where they say an old woman lives. I’m not sure how this rumor came to be, considering that no one ever comes by, but it is true. This woman has lived in her hut since the beginning of time, as far as anyone in this town is concerned. Her family moved here seventy years ago, and she was born shortly after. That’s what she tells me, if you believe her. My parents say that she’s full of lies. It’s mainly out of pity that I visit, anyway, so I don’t see why they care so much. She never married, and needless to say her parents died a long time ago. I’m the closest thing she has to family (me and her cats, at least.) She teaches me things, too, important things, not like you learn at school.


She taught me to listen. To the birds, to the trees themselves, they all have a story if you just be quiet for once and listen. One day, when I was visiting, I found Matilda sitting on a rock by the bank. When I asked her what she was doing, she told me to take a seat. So I did. We both sat there for what seemed like forever.
“Why are we just sitting here?” I asked.
“We are not ‘just sitting,’ silly child. Listen.”
So I did. I listened to the rushing current, to the buzz of the fly by my ear, to the wind dancing around my head, everything was alive and bustling around, and yet it was so soothing.
“It’s as if you’re listening to Mother Nature herself,” she smiled. “She has such sad stories sometimes.”
“They’re still lovely,” I chimed.
“Aren’t they just?”
“How’d you learn to listen like this, Miss Matilda?”
“I taught myself, when I wasn’t much older than you. It’s easy to pick up when you don’t have much human company.”
“You have me now, remember?”
Matilda smiled. “And I couldn’t be more thankful. My, it’s getting rather late.”
I looked up at the sky, set ablaze by the setting sun. “Oh, it is! I have to go, Mama said to be home before it gets dark.”
“Well you had better hurry then, child.”

I sprinted home that night, and got there right before the sun disappeared under the hills.


Mama used to find me sitting in the garden every once in a while.
“What are you doing this time?” she would ask.
And every single time, I would reply, “I’m just sitting here, listening.” I even got her to join me one summer. She just sat down beside me and stayed there, still as a rock, and as the sun lowered itself she said, “It’s beautiful, the sound of nature. More beautiful than all the symphonies in the world put together.”
“And sadder, too.”