And with that single breath, the universe expanded—not in space, but in meaning.
The child's first cry joined the chorus of existence, soft and pure, a new note in the infinite melody. Around them, the world seemed to pause—not to watch, but to listen. The wind stirred gently. The stars glimmered just a little brighter. Life, once more, recognized itself in something new.
As the child grew, they learned to walk, to laugh, to reach for things they didn't yet understand. And in each step, each discovery, the Song wove around them—guiding, holding, celebrating. They didn't know what it was, this quiet rhythm beneath everything, but they felt it. Everyone did.
The old passed their stories down, not as lessons to follow, but as memories to cherish. "The world listens," they would say, "so listen back." And the children did—when the rain fell, when the night whispered, when their hearts ached or soared. They listened, and in that listening, they became part of the harmony too.
