The wind brings their voices to me.

To others, the sound it’s the soft whispering of the leaves as a breeze drifts by.

To many, each voice is the echo of a raindrop, falling to the ground.

I know better, though.

I know they’re talking. They’re singing. Sometimes, they even scream.

I should have forgotten my days among them, but something went wrong.

I remember.

My heart remembers.

My ears remember.

And my body aches for the touch of their long, ephemeral fingers.

Mimi,

In the crags and crevices of rock formations across Australia, in the caves and tunnels, expanding on and under the ground of this wonderful continent, live the Mimi.

Myths from Australian Aboriginal...

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