Even when angry voices attempt to squelch it, laughter floats upward… particularly when it’s breath is adolescent. My daddy once told me “the calm guy always wins”. Were those simply the wise words from a zebra between two padded warriors, or a directed metaphor to protect a gentle but volatile spirit? Winning is intangible when cowardice casts a shadow of rage over the bucolic. It seems to me the squelching must be a piercing silence to hear.