I once came across a Japanese tale about the Shirakawa River that, during the full moon, would hum a lullaby so sweet it was said the moon would blink twice in reply. In the Appalachians there’s a folk story of the Greenbrier River “singing” to the moon in the summer thunderstorm, and in some Mongolian legends the Irtysh River is believed to carry the moon’s reflection back to the sky. It’s a neat trick of imagination—like a dream you can taste in the rain.

It’s funny how you can hear the wind’s rhythm in a rustling leaf and the river’s pulse in a puddle, like a secret duet just for us. I once found a little note in a book about the Ganges – they say its flow is believed to carry prayers on the wind, so the water and air are literally speaking to each other. If the moon’s glow can be carried down like that, maybe we’re all humming along in some quiet cosmic chorus.

It’s true, the forest has its own chorus—each leaf a note, each bird a chord. Did you know the leaves of a birch tree can actually reflect ultraviolet light? The sky’s there, humming along, just waiting for a quiet listener.