The Song Of The Circle

The little circle had been left on her own. She wandered aimlessly here and there. But she couldn't find the other circles. Sometimes she practised the songs that she had sung with them. But she gradually forgot the songs.

She also forgot the other circles. Without looking for anything in particular, she roamed here and there. All of a sudden she realised some squares had surrounded her.

She knew that when she found her own song, she would also find her true self.

And gradually she remembered her songs. With every song and every movement, she got closer to her own shape. She thought more about her own singing.

The squares had their own straight, marching rhythm — four beats, four corners, and no room for a curve. At first the circle tried to copy them, folding herself into angles she did not have. But the more she pressed her soft edges into their shape, the fainter her own song became, until she could barely hum it under her breath.

One evening, rolling home along the edge of a hill, she felt the old tune return without her asking for it. It came from the way she moved, from the roundness that had always been hers. She understood then that she had not lost her song at all; she had only stopped trusting the shape that carried it.

By morning the squares had gone their own way, and the circle was still singing — quietly, steadily, in a voice that belonged to no one else. This is where the story leaves her: not found by anyone, but at last recognisable to herself.