I pushed through the palm fronds and ferns and moved through the thick grass, stopping on the edge of a small glade. The grass ended at the side of a pool. Trees and lush vegetation overhung it, some leaves dipping and dancing with the water. A light breeze whispered through the branches. Birds sang, twittered and chirped from various places around the little clearing. Faintly, to my left, I heard the trickle of water leaving the pool and entering a small stream.
Peace filled the dell.
I paused at the edge of the trees to soak it in.
The soft symphony of worship rose from all around me: the trees, birds, water and leaves all sang their parts in harmony. The skittering of small creatures moving through the underbrush added a soft counterpoint.
Slowly I became aware of a woman sitting on the edge of the pond across from me. Her head down, strawberry blonde hair hid her face. One arm trailed slowly through the water.
yut she was silent.
Her voice should be raised to join the symphony.
I wondered what kept her silent.
Faintly, in the distance behind her, a discordant movement caught my eye. A man moved away through the jungle. His presence was wrong.
What was the connection between this man and the woman by the pond?
Why was he here?
What is it that he carried away from the woman through the woods?
What was this woman missing?
Suddenly I knew!
Her voice!
He had stolen her voice.
This person had locked the woman into a place where her voice was not welcome and could not be heard. He had told her what her voice was, what she could sing, what she could do, what she could not do, not sing. He had a boxed her in with his demands and expectations until her unique voice was silenced.
I grieved her sadness.
Still the symphony wafted gently around us. 
As she trailed her hand through the water, the tiny ripples created added to the symphony. A slight change. That small movement increased the peace. Tranquillity rose and enwrapped her, chord by chord.
Peace brings hope.
After some time, the woman raised her head. Her eyes lifted to the branches moving gently around the pond. Her tilted head caught the melodies the birds sang. The breeze caressed her tear-laden cheeks: cooling, drying…
She closed her eyes to listen.
Slowly, quietly, she began to hum.
A harmony.
Her own harmony.
She did not hum what the man had instructed. No longer did she try to make it hers. She began to find her own voice.
Slowly, note by note, she began to find her own song.
Her volume gradually increased as she gained confidence and owned her music.
Her voice joined the rhythms and cadence of the larger symphony, bringing a new harmony.
As I listened, the beauty of the music, now complete, rose, filling the small glade. I could barely breathe for the joy and freedom in it.
She sang on, face lifted now, eyes closed in worship, her voice strong, confident, unique…
The beautiful harmonious unity filled the jungle.
Quietly, I slipped away.
