The young deer sharply turns, points his ears toward the sound. He hears things we don't. Or perhaps more accurately, most of the time, hears things we don't bother to notice. Oh big brain, monkey mind, this great eraser of sights and sounds no longer of any practical use or obvious consequence! What symphonies will never be revealed to me?
I do not envy the deer, this overgrown, ennobled forest rat, despite his large ears, graceful leaps and penetrating gaze. I do not know what it is to be a deer. I can no longer listen to his music than he can comprehend mine.