The seashells near the ocean
where I grew up are storytellers.
Every morning, feet burning
...
[+]
It was a wonderfully quiet day at the art gallery. Paintings that were hundreds of years old lined the walls for all to enjoy. It was a wonderfully quiet day until . . .
Honk!
Everyone in the art gallery came to a halt. None could make sense of what they heard. Had they really heard a honk?
"What was that?"
"Was that you?"
"What's going on?"
HONK!
Everyone looked around in surprise. Another honk had cut through the silence. They all started to look for the source of the noise.
"This way!"
"No, it was this way, I'm sure!"
"Find that honk!"
HONK! HONK!
There was no doubt about it: someone or something was making that noise.
As the group of honk hunters rounded a corner, they saw him.
"It's a goose!"
"We need to catch it."
"Hurry before he gets away."
HONK! HONK! HONK!
The group ran, but the goose was off and away, before anyone could even snag a feather.
The group stalked around the library in complete silence, waiting for the next honk.
"Where did he go?"
"Why is he here?"
"How do we catch him?"
...
Silence. No more honks. Maybe he left, they whispered among themselves.
They found him at the end of the gallery, in the final room at the end of the hall.
HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!
He was staring up at a beautiful painting of a pond, flapping his wings and honking!
"He likes the artwork!"
"He has good taste in paintings."
"Maybe we should leave him be."
And the group tiptoed away, leaving the goose to enjoy the gallery in peace. Art should be enjoyed by all, no matter how loud they honk.