East Wind went a-traveling. As the day dawned, it heard Song Sparrow’s trill and blew closer to listen. “Song Sparrow,” it asked, “why do you sing?”

Song Sparrow singing by Bow Bridge. Photo by Anders Peltomaa; some rights reserved.
“Today I sing to call a mate,” answered Song Sparrow.
“Will you teach me to sing as you do?” asked East Wind.
“Alas, I cannot,” said Song Sparrow, “for you lack the syrinx I use to sing.”
“Where did you learn your song?” asked East Wind.
“From my father,” said Song Sparrow, “who learned it from his father, who learned it from his father. So long as the world has known Song Sparrows, Song Sparrows have known this song.”
“But where did the first song of the first Song Sparrow come from?” asked East Wind.
This quite stumped Song Sparrow. “I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps he made it up.”
East Wind traveled on. As evening gathered, it heard Cricket’s rapid stridulation and blew closer to listen. “Cricket,” it asked, “why do you sing?”
“I sing to tell the weather,” answered Cricket. “The warmer the air, the faster I chirp.”
“Will you teach me to sing as you do?” asked East Wind.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Cricket, “for you lack the plectrum and stridulitrum I use to sing.”

Striduler. Photo by mikael dusenne; some rights reserved.
“Where did you learn your song?” asked East Wind.
“From my father,” said Cricket, “who learned it from his father, who learned it from his father. So long as the world has known crickets, crickets have known this song.”
“But where did the first song of the first cricket come from?” asked East Wind.
Cricket thought a good long while. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Perhaps he made it up.”
East Wind traveled on. As night fell, and most creatures drifted into sleep and fell silent, East Wind heard a round song, full of spheres and rings and waves, deep and quiet and impossible to separate from the trill of Song Sparrow and the stridulation of Cricket and a billion other songs sung by a million other children of Gaia.
“What is this song?” East Wind asked. “Who is the singer?”
And East Wind heard a laugh, as round and deep and quiet and inseparable as the song. “I am the singer,” Gaia said, “and this is the First Song, the one I taught Song Sparrow and Cricket and a million other beings who sing a billion other songs.”
“But their songs sound nothing like this,” East Wind said.
“Ah, so they’ve changed a note or two here and there over millennia, to keep themselves amused. But you can still hear my song in theirs.”
East Wind conceded that this was true. “Will you teach me to sing as you do?”

Earth from space. Photo by NASA.
Gaia smiled. “But you already do—you and the other winds, and the oceans and rocks and mountains and sky. When Mountain kisses you and Ocean holds your hand; when you bask in Sun’s heat and shiver in Night’s chill—in all of those times you sing the First Song.”
“I don’t remember that,” East Wind confessed. “Why do we do it?”
“For the love of it,” Gaia answered. “For the very fact of being! And to remember that, although the melodies change, we are all, at our cores, singing the same song. ”
East Wind thought these very good reasons, indeed, and it traveled on, singing its new, old song.
——
A 2008 article on the phenomenon known as “Earth’s hum”.
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