The little girl rocked back and forth upon the little horse, the springs creaking with each sway. But she paid no heed to the groans of her little horse. She was listening for something else-a distinctive high pitch tone. She’d seen others do it. If they could, so could she. She had decided to teach teach herself to whistle.
Just pucker and blow. That’s all it is. She blew again as she rocked. Nothing. Well, there was a whoosh sound but that was not right. She tried again. The leaves rustled in the trees, not at all gently, for the branches beat up and down as their small green leaves slapped upon one another in fury.
And then she heard it! The shrill tones she had been waiting for! A whistle!
The rocking stopped as she swung her feet around to climb out of the saddle. She ran, excitement building inside her as she bounded through the back door and into the kitchen.
“Mama, I did it! I did it!”
“What did you do?”
She blew in demonstration. A puff of air escaped her lips, low and nearly silent. Her large round eyes widened in disbelief. “I can whistle! I can!”
She had just had it! How could she have forgotten so quickly? She was doing nothing differently than she had before while sitting upon Maize. She had named the horse for the Crayola he most resembled in the big crayon box with the sharpener. Periwinkle was her favorite, but Maize was a better fit. If she could spell maize and periwinkle, she could certainly whistle!
She readied her lips again, licking them and forming the pucker needed to direct the air. She took a breath. And just before she was ready she heard the whistle-a clear, even, single high sharp tone.
The branches bobbed up and down outside the window. The leaves chattered in response. The shrill tone grew steadily and then ebbed and flowed away. She looked at her mother, a question in her eyes. Her mother nodded, a laugh in her eyes, if not yet on her mouth.
“Yep. It was the wind blowing through the trees.”
Understanding dawned. She squished her eyes together wrinkling her forehead.
Undeterred she turned, walked out the door and mounted her saddle. A little thing like a whistle was not going to beat her! She began to rock, urging Maize along his never changing journey. She took a breath, licked her lips, puckered and blew.