In Grandma's garden, the leaves vibrated as if they were tiny drums. On one branch of the pear tree, a pinwheel clicked, and Mimi smiled at every click. That afternoon, she had nothing to do but follow her curiosity. On the other side of the fence, the dense Loud Forest spread, from where a strange hum drifted, like a distant beehive. Only this was not a beehive.

Mimi started when the hum suddenly rounded into a song. There was a high "buzzz" in it, in the middle a tingling "bzz-bzz," and a deep, almost tickling "dong-dong." It was as if the air vibrated in the sunshine. Mimi jumped over the fence, into the warm grass, and followed the thread of the sounds, like an invisible string.

The first tree of the Loud Forest was a twisted-trunked beech, its bark as smooth as Grandma's rolling pin. Among the roots, soft, colorful fluffs moved. At first, she thought they were flowers. Then she realized that they had eyes too – tiny, light-speck eyes – and tiny antennae vibrated out from among them.

— Buzzz? — spoke one fluff, with green-blue glitter on its fur.

— I am Mimi — she said, with her head tilted a bit. — And you...?

— Buzzers! — tinkled a golden-colored tiny one, whose fur was like the dandelion's tuft. — I am Buzzy Borka.

The Buzzers described a circle, then suddenly all started buzzing at once. Their collective voice swirled and waved, like a colorful scarf that the wind throws. Mimi laughed with delight and took out the flat walnut leaf from her pocket, which she had found on the kitchen windowsill that morning. She rolled it up, blew into it, and the leaf whistled thinly. The Buzzers fell silent from the surprise, then vibrated, cheering excitedly.

— You can make music too! — shouted Borka. — Today is the Big Spring Ringing, and every sound counts. Would you bring to us... the strange rustling leaf?

Mimi nodded, and with careful steps, followed the fluffs towards a deeper clearing. In the middle stood a brown rock, and on its top a crack appeared, as if it were grinning. The Buzzers floated in circles around it, their tiny legs just barely grazing the air.

— He is Stoneheart — explained Borka. — If we ring nicely enough, his crack opens, and fresh water trickles from it all summer.

— And if not? — asked Mimi.

The Buzzers shrugged (or did something like that with their antennae). — Then the Bud Ditch dries out, and the raspberry will be grumpy too.

Mimi then heard a new sound. The ground trembled with it too; it was a deep and rattling rumble, as if a fat barrel rolled far away.

— Grumbly Marcus is coming — whispered a purple fluff, and the others carefully flattened themselves among the grass.

Marcus was as big as a garden shed. Moss cushions covered his back, and flat stones rested on his shoulders, as if he wore armor. His eyes glittered like a cave lake, and his voice rumbled on, yet he didn't seem angry at all, only confused.

The Buzzers looked at each other. Mimi noticed that some of them covered their ears, or rather, their antennae.

— In the ringing, the deep is needed too, isn't it? — said Mimi. — Marcus's voice is like a drum under the ground.

— Only Halla is here too — vibrated Borka, and pointed at a tall, slender creature who stood in the shadow of a juniper. Her skin was shiny, almost transparent, and from the two sides of her head, huge, leaf-shaped ears floated. — She is Soft-Eared Halla. She hears every sound. Even the air between the sounds. If there is too much sound, she blows a silence bubble.

Halla bowed gently to Mimi. — I am glad you came. Sometimes the world tinkles so much that it becomes overwhelming. I like it if they hear the silence too — she said silkily, like the dew.

— Then maybe silence is needed in the ringing too — Mimi thought suddenly. — Like the pauses in music. Not lack, just rest.

The Buzzers whispered together. Marcus's eyes lit up, then suddenly became gloomy.

— I can neither buzz, nor be silent. I am all grumbles — he mumbled.

— No way! — protested Mimi, and flicked the walnut leaf. — Show me how deeply you can rumble. We will weave the melody around you, and Halla will blow a silence bubble every now and then, when it is needed. It will be like the sea: wave and withdrawal.

— The sea... — sighed Halla, and the air stilled between her fingers, as if she had just caught it. — Let's try it.

Around Stoneheart, everyone stood in their place. The Buzzers hovered in layers: up, the highest "buzzz"; in the middle, the resonant "bzz-bzz"; below, the purring "dong." Mimi became conductor, but not like in the tales: not with a magic wand, but with the leaves. She waved with a wider leaf, signaled with the walnut, and meanwhile watched Halla's face, the rising of Marcus's chest.

— On three — she whispered. — One... two... sound!

First, everyone was careful, as if stepping on ice. The Buzzers wove the air with thin threads, and Marcus slowly added his rumble, which came from so deep that Mimi felt it in her sole too. Halla touched her two palms together, and in the middle of the sounds, a tiny, round bubble of silence was created, into which one could breathe.

Stoneheart did not move.

— More courage from the deep! — asked Mimi, and a gray stone glittered on Marcus's shoulder. — It doesn't matter if it's grumpy. This is you.

Marcus took a big breath, and as he blew it out, his rumbling became smoother. He didn't growl, but purred, as if a huge cat slept in the ground. The Buzzers answered this with their special sounds: one of them spun the sound like a spinning top, the other dotted sounds into the air, as if rain knocked on a wooden roof. Halla blew silence circles among them from time to time, and breath-long pauses were created, after which the music tinkled even more beautifully.

Then the crack of Stoneheart vibrated. The stripe widened, like a smile that hasn't quite spread yet. The Buzzers grew brave, and Borka, with her small body, conjured a sound that glided from the high to the deep, like a bird on the slope.

— Pause! — waved Mimi, and Halla, with a soft movement, wove silence into the melody, an invisible membrane from which everyone took a breath at once.

In the next moment, Marcus sent a long, continuous purr into the ground. Stoneheart cracked wider, and from its side a transparent drop bubbled. After the drop, a stripe; after the stripe, a trickle; then suddenly the water spilled and tinkled as it ran down a groove to the bottom of the clearing.

The Loud Forest came alive: the grass lifted its stalks, the ants ran happily on the wet ground, the leaves of the bushes trembled, as if a warm blanket covered their backs. Mimi laughed aloud, the Buzzers danced above the water, and Marcus scratched his mossy shoulder confusedly.

— We succeeded — he grumbled, and in his voice, there was no grumpiness anymore.

— Because we did it together — answered Mimi, and only then noticed how grown-up this sounded. Quickly, she added: — And because your purring was exactly like a swing: it took us forward.

Halla fluttered there, and placed a tiny, transparent bubble in Mimi's palm. Inside, a little sound rested, as quiet as falling snow – only this one was warm.

— If the noise ever becomes too big — said Halla —, just let it out. It will remind you of the pause.

Borka settled on Mimi's shoulder, and buzzed a silky "thank you" into her ear. — If you come back, I'll teach you invisible harping with spider thread. You just have to ask the spider.

Mimi laughed. The sun filtering through the trees dappled the grass, the water splashed, and she didn't want to be anywhere else than here, where sounds have color, and silence has weight.

Later, when she stepped back over the fence into Grandma's garden, and the pinwheel clicked again, she noticed something in her pocket. A small, bluish pebble, on which tiny cracks ran, just like Stoneheart's. If she held it to her ear, it cooed barely audibly – like distant rumbling.

— This might be Marcus's stone — she whispered, and put it in her pocket. — So I don't forget how good purring can be.

Grandma had just come out of the kitchen then; on a tray, lukewarm scones steamed.

— Where have you been with such good cheer? — she asked, smiling.

Mimi shrugged, and put her walnut leaf on the table. — Just in the Loud Forest. We practiced a little. Now I can blow a pause too.

Grandma laughed, and laughed with such a voice that didn't even need any melody with it. And Mimi knew that next time, she would jump over the fence too, if the buzzing called her. Because there, under the trees, everyone sounds different, yet they discover how they fit together – like the mosaics on a colorful bench.