Fragments of Hilcias and Taki’s Notebook - 52 Blue

from Fragments of Hilcias and Taki’s Notebook - 52 Blue


Can you hear me?

Do you want to hear me?

I don't know.

I do know one thing.

The Navy, which'd spent years tracking Soviet submarines during the Cold War with hydrophones and spectrometers but were now using that technology to track us, later said, "52 Blue never let up with that song."

They were right,

I didn't.

I never let up with my song.

I kept on singing.

I'm part of a community of the biggest creatures that have ever lived on earth (our hearts are the size of Volkswagen Beetles...do you know the size of your heart?...it's the size of your fist), but no one heard me.

I'm part of a community of the smartest creatures that have ever lived on earth (our brains weigh over 15 pounds...do you know how much your brain weighs....it weighs around 3 pounds...and we live peacefully and non-violently for our whole lives), but no one heard me.

I'm part of a community of the most resilient creatures that have ever lived on earth (we migrate thousands and thousands of miles each year to eat our fill of krill in the cold waters near the poles and birth our babies in the warm waters near the equator...how far have you migrated?), but no one heard me.

And I'm part of a community of the loudest creatures that have ever lived on earth (our songs travel across oceans and seas...how far can your voice travel?), but no one heard me.

No one heard me.

Until that Monday December 7, 1992, off the western coast of Whidbey Island, at the northern boundary of the Puget Sound and the Pacific Ocean, when two people out of the billions of people on earth listened.

They were paying attention.

They heard me.


- Trevor Scott Barton, stories for a brown eyed girl, 2020