The music of what happens

It seems to me that since I am a storyteller I should occasionally relate stories here.

I am not the first to ruminate on listening, nor will I be the last. The ancient Irish understood that the incidental sounds in our lives were as precious to hear as anything we could deliberately create. Listen. What do you hear?


From the life of Fionn, the greatest of Irish chieftains, borrowed from the Sacred Texts website.

Once, as they rested on a chase, a debate arose among the Fianna-Finn as to what was the finest music in the world.

"Tell us that," said Fionn turning to Oisi'n.

"The cuckoo calling from the tree that is highest in the hedge," cried his merry son.

"A good sound," said Fionn. "And you, Oscar," he asked, "what is to your mind the finest of music?"

"The top of music is the ring of a spear on a shield," cried the stout lad.

"It is a good sound," said Fionn. And the other champions told their delight; the belling of a stag across water, the baying of a tuneful pack heard in the distance, the song of a lark, the laugh of a gleeful girl, or the whisper of a one moved in passion.

"They are good sounds all," said Fionn.

"Tell us, chief," one ventured, "what you think?"

"The music of what happens," said great Fionn, "that is the finest music in the world."

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer (such as it is, the story isn't mine)