"He started picking up debris off the beach, and randomly at first, and then with a steady and abnormal concentration, he had built a spiralling construction of marramgrass and shells and driftchips and seaweed.
'What are you doing?'
He whistled and pointed to it.
It whistles?
He lay down on the sand with his ear by it, and she went to him, puzzled. Simon got up quickly. Listen too, he said, touching his ear and pointing to her. So she did, and heard nothing. Listened very intently, and was suddenly aware that the pulse of her blood and the surge of the surf and the thin rustle of wind round the beaches were combining to make something like music.

She adds, 'They only make music when someone's listening. They're focusing points more than anything...' " --Keri Hulme, The Bone People (1984)
Poems.