My own touching that of centuries before in monophonetic Gregorian Chant. Hearing once again the unearthly tones that make me think of whale song, and something more. Further back in memory, then it stops in space of time. My eyes tear up, the funeral masses at St. Michael’s as a child. Single clear soprano ringing to the arches, filling up the great expanse of holy space. The smell of flowers, yes, the ghastly smell of flowers…
And in the classroom, more. Young voices raised and singing, learning, crying the chant as well.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Ahhh, but there was tradition, history, connection. Things of which a lone and orphaned child knows little.