Elaine sat on a wooden bench that afforded her a wonderful view of the pond situated on the back half of her parent’s land. She relished in its solitude, its serenity, and its sheer beauty of existing. A loon gave a melodious call somewhere near the other side. A bullfrog pinned for a mate. Dragonflies danced their own dance, copulating as they flew, only to dive to the water to empty their reservoir of eggs. Most gained the pleasure to dance again, some were taken by those beneath the water’s surface whose mouths large enough to take them in. The breeze carried its own perfume as it passed her by, flowers which couldn’t be seen but making their presence known.

”Hey, Elaine, what’s ya doin’?” The intruding sound scattered the bullfrog, who’d find another gathering of reeds to do it pinning. “HEY, ELAINE, WHAT’S YA DOIN’,” came the voice again, only louder this time. The ducks she’d been watching calming swimming near her shore quacked in anger that their enjoyment had been so rudely interrupted by such a noise, as they too sought a quieter place to swim. “Hey, Elaine, ain’t ya gonna answer me? I asked, what’s ya don’.”

Timmy was Elaine’s six-year-old brother, who was as curious as he often was a bother. “Timmy,” Elaine said, with a bit of an edge to her voice, “you have spoiled another symphony yet again. And it was truly beautiful.” Timmy took what Elaine said literally, and looked around for the instruments he knew were used to make music. “I don’t see no instraments. And what’s a sympany anyway?” Elaine sighed, shook her head and said, “It’s symphony, Timmy. Not sympany.” Timmy frowned, then asked, “Okay, but what’s a sympany?” Exasperated in her efforts to try and teach Timmy anything, she replied with, “It’s music produced by a large group.” Again Elaine confused him by saying music, and he looked around again for any instruments. After turning in a complete circle, he said, “But Elaine, there ain’t no instraments out here. There’s just you, me, and a whole lot of notin’.”

Elaine forced the scream that threatened to escape her down as far as she could, then looked at Timmy and asked him, “Timmy, be specific, tell me what you see around us.” Timmy gave Elaine a confused look before asking, “What does speaficic mean?” Elaine took several deep breaths, it was better than what her mom would kill her for doing, then looking at Timmy said, “Timmy, tell me everything you see around us.”

”Weell...I see trees, an’ water, an’ bugs, an’ a bunch of weeds, an’ grass, an’ dirt, an’ the sky, an’ clouds, is that what you mean?” Nodding her head, Elaine answered, “Yes, Timmy, that’s what I mean. Now, if you sit calmly, quietly, and listen, all of those things produce their own symphony, their own beautiful music.”

Timmy looked at his sister with a curious expression on his face. He looked in front of him, looked behind him, looked left and right, but didn’t see any instruments that were used to make music. “Elaine, I think you been out in the sun too long. There ain’t no instraments out here for making music.” Elaine shook her head, “Timmy what is music?” She asked, trying to get him to reason it out for himself. “Weell...it’s a bunch of real pretty noise,” he replied. Elaine continued. “And what makes that pretty noise?” By his silence, Elaine knew her little brother was thinking, it’s what he often did when asked a question that required him to think before answering. She had him confused, ‘cause everyone knew music was made by instraments, and said so. “But you said it was noise, pretty noise. Can’t noise be made by other things too?” Now she really stumped him, and she knew it too, as he sat down on the bench beside her and had his chin in his hands.

Several minutes went by before Timmy said, “Weell...a lot of things makes noise. Momma dropping a pan on the floor makes a heck of a noise. Slamming that screen door makes a noise. Daddy’s car makes a noise when he starts it so we can go som’where. I guess noise is everywhere. But that don’t make it music? Doesn’t it?” Elaine had him where she wanted him to go, wondering what was and wasn’t music. “Timmy, do you hear that bullfrog croaking? Did you just hear that Loon call? Hear the ducks quacking? Isn’t that pretty when it’s put together? And when you hear it all right here, at the pond, it becomes magical. Don’t you think?”

They both sat in silence for a long time, Elaine taking in the music of nature and Timmy trying to figure out if what Elaine said was music. She smiled when she heard, “Weell...it ain’t like no music I ever heard, but I guess it is kinda pretty to listen too.”

”WALTER TUCKER!” Timmy cringed when he heard their mother’s voice. “Uh, oh, you’re in for it now Elaine.” Timmy looked around and saw their mom beating a hot path where the two sat on the wooden bench. “And Timmy Tucker, what in Sam Huston are you doing out here? You know you aren’t strong enough to resist temptation. Get your butt back to the house, and yesterday.” Elaine didn’t watch Timmy run faster than the wind back to the house, she was too busy listening to nature’s music.

"Now you, missy. How many times have I told you not to be out here when you’re Elaine? You know good and well what you do to any of those boys who catch you sitting out here. That last time with that boy was a real close call, it took me some time to find just the right snake so I could claim he was laying in the straw when he got bit on the neck by that snake.”

Elaine sighed, listened to the symphony end, thanks to her mom, before telling her mom, “Oh, mom. You and I know he’s going to be all right in a few days. He was just a light snack. And I was hungry.”