The Nightingale and the Jackass

The nightingale, well-known comforter of emperors and clowns, embarked on a panoply of song. All of the creatures were rapt. High she sang, and low. East she sang, and west. Far she sang, and near. She sang the heights and depths of love, the breadth and width of experience, the infinite texture and nuance of life. Long, she sang. Song after song, she sang. And when she was done ...

The world erupted in praise. All the creatures, each in their own way, gave thanks. They cheered. They applauded. They stamped. They whistled. They sighed. They roared. They cried.

And the jackass said to himself, "So, that's how it's done. That's how you get everyone to pay attention to you! I can do that!"

So the jackass commenced to bray at the top of his lungs and kept at it until his wind gave out. The creatures groaned and hissed and howled and whined.

But you know? A surprising number thought it was art.