As told by Maureen
Kenzie Leanne wants to be a singer. She practices every day, using just the right poses and just the right breath and just the right phrasing. She holds her mouth in just the right shape, and the sounds come out in just the right way. She practices, continually.
But, once in a while, when she is in just the right mood and the weather is just the right shade of warm, she will relax and sing for the other Pippsywoggins. When she does this, she has a wonderful, jolly-good time.
This sometimes happens when the Pips are gathered around their favorite fire pit which is near the moss covered logs at the edge of the golf course woods. Usually someone will have brought currant berries to roast on little sticks until they burst with a sizzle - just right for popping into little honey buns. While they sit and roast and eat and listen, they smile - or cry - or look soulfully at the fire. For Kenzie Leanne is truly a magical singer. She captures their feelings and wraps them around with the very sound of her voice.
She can sing the awe felt by a newborn Pippsywoggin as it arises from the dreamsongs of butterflies. She can sing the pain of each of them as they have suffered the loss of home or friends. And she can sing the joy of the sun creeping over the distant horizon to greet a world strewn with flowers and forests and mountains of every shade and hue.
But then, when the warmth of the weather and her mood is no longer just right, she begins to doubt herself, and the thought arises that this is just silly play. So she sends everyone home so that she can practice in just the right way.
One of these days perhaps she will grow wise enough to know what everyone else already knows. But, until then, she will continue to practice, so that she can become what she was born to be … and already is … and has always been: a singer.
1995, 2006 by Maureen Carlson