“Please sing to me, Aunt Beast.”
If it was impossible to describe sight to Aunt Beast, it would be even more impossible to describe the singing of Aunt Beast to a human being. It was a music even more glorious that the music of the singing creatures on Uriel. It was a music more tangible than form or sight. It had essence and structure. It supported Meg more firmly than the arms of Aunt Beast. It seemed to travel with her, to sweep her aloft in the power of song, so that she was moving in glory among the stars, and for a moment she, too, felt that the words Darkness and Light had no meaning, and only this melody was real.
Meg did not know when she fell asleep within the body of the music. When she wakened Aunt Beast was asleep too… Night had gone and a dull gray light filled the room. but she realized now that here on this planet there was no need for color, that the grays and browns merging into each other were not what the beasts knew, and that what she herself saw was only the smallest fraction of what the planet was really like. It was she who was limited by her senses, not the blind beasts, for they must have senses of which she could not even dream.
Madeleine L’Engle, A Wrinkle in Time
psst… only 65 days ’til Camp starts!