They don’t listen to me, they don’t hear me, they don’t see me.
“She sang songs for a while, softly, and listened to the cries of birds, unknown and unseen birds, off in the forest, retreating to their nests for the night, heads nestled under fold of wing, retiring into the simple harmless dreams of avian sleep. (A bird has no cerebrum.)”
Edward Abbey | The Monkey Wrench Gang