The Silent Garden
A story written upon request to work with people who are scared to voice their inner thoughts and truths. We all have a voice inside and it has a place in this world – allow yourself to let it out, there are always people who want to hear it!
There once was a lush and vibrant garden hidden beyond the hills—so alive with sound it seemed the very air shimmered. In that garden lived birds of every color: red, green,blue, yellow and even gold. Each morning, they sang. Not for performance, not for praise—simply because it was who they were.
Their songs filled the sky like sunlight. Melodies danced from tree to tree, weaving joy between the leaves.
But beauty doesn’t always go unnoticed.
One day, predators came—drawn by the very songs that gave the garden life. Some were large birds with hungry eyes, others were beasts who crept through the underbrush. The garden trembled. The air grew sharp. Danger echoed louder than any melody.
And so, the birds learned a hard lesson: singing made them seen. Being seen made them vulnerable.
So they stopped.
First one, then another, until the entire garden fell into silence.
The predators eventually left—finding no song, no trace of the life they once hunted. But silence lingered like a veil. Even though the danger was gone, fear had built a nest in every branch.
Young birds were born into that silence. They never heard the music of their ancestors—only the rustle of leaves, the beating of wings, and the hush of unspoken memories.
But as they grew, so did their curiosity.
One day, high in the canopy, a group of young birds gathered and whispered questions:
What do we sound like?
What is this feeling inside that wants to come out?
What would happen if we… sang?
And so—carefully first, then boldly—they did.
The first notes trembled like spring rain. But soon, the branches rang with raw, beautiful sound.
Below, the older birds heard it—and panic surged like wind before a storm. Memories awakened: danger, loss, fear. They flew to the young ones in a flurry, wings wide, voices urgent.
“Stop! You don’t understand what singing brings! They’ll come! You’ll be hurt!”
But the young birds did not cower.
“We are not afraid,” one said softly. “There are many of us now. If danger comes, we can fly. We can protect each other. But we want to sing. And we shall.”
And sing they did.
…And sing they did.
The sound rose like morning mist—soft, trembling, but unstoppable. Each note echoed like a secret being remembered. The young birds sang from somewhere deeper than their throats; they sang from the part of themselves that had always known they were meant to.
And just as before, the garden began to stir.
Leaves trembled.
Bushes shifted.
In the distance—heavy footsteps. The snapping of twigs. Wings in the sky.
The predators were returning.
The older birds froze. Panic spread like wildfire.
“You’ve brought them back!” they cried. “They’ve heard you—they’re coming!”
A flurry of feathers erupted as they rushed to the young birds, urging them to stop.
“Quiet now! Before it’s too late!”
“Hide! Be still!”
“We told you what happened last time!”
The young birds, startled and confused, quieted their voices. The song stopped mid-breath, mid-note. The garden fell still again.
And then…
From the trees, from the shadows, the predators arrived.
But they didn’t pounce.
They didn’t hunt.
They just… listened.
A great bear sat quietly beneath the singing tree. A hawk perched on a branch nearby, head tilted, eyes soft. A fox, once feared, padded gently into the clearing and sat among the roots.
Then one of them spoke.
A voice deep as the earth, but warm like sun through clouds.
“Why did you stop?”
No one answered.
The young birds looked to the elders. The elders looked to the ground.
The bear spoke again.
“We heard your song… and followed it here.. We didn’t come to harm you. We only want… more. Please”
The large hawk called “My friends can only scream. I wish we could sing like you! Please…sing some more”
The fox stepped forward, tail in respect low down. “We’ve missed your songs more than you know.”
Silence again.
But this time, not out of fear.
This silence was a pause before a choice.
The young birds looked at one another, then at the elders. Slowly, bravely, they lifted their beaks—and sang once again, filling the air with hope and magic that last still to this day…