505 Hz + brown noise
Read aloud the text below.
She would bring her mother handfuls of mud and handfuls of water, and her mother would say, ‘Now, don’t you go stepping on it. You’re just messing up all my work!’
After a while the baby cupped her hands and poured water on her mother’s arm and laughed, so her mother cupped her hands and poured water on the baby’s belly, and the baby laughed and threw water on her mother with both hands, and the little girl threw water back, enough so that the baby whimpered, and the little girl said, “Now don’t you go crying! What do you expect when you act like that.” And she put her arms around her and settled her into her lap, kneeling there in the water, and set about repairing her dam with her free hand. The baby made a conversational sound and her mother said, “That’s a leaf. A leaf off a tree. Leaf,” and gave it into the baby’s hand. And the sun was shining as well as it could onto that shadowy river, a good part of the shine being caught in the trees. And the cicadas were chanting, and the willows were straggling their tresses in the water, and the cottonwood and the ash were making that late summer hush, that susurrus.
After a while we went on back to the car and came home. Glory said, “I do not understand one thing in this world. Not one.”
Marilynne Robinson, Gilead, (New York: Picador, 2004) 163-164.