There once was an ant with a rare gift of persuasion. His silver-tongued orations earned him the mantle of colony leader. Armed only with his epaulets, a rich voice and a deep arsenal of words, the ant held his colony at rapt attention as he recited the stories that inspired their daily work.
Then, one day, he noticed their attention drifting. The winds that once carried the ant’s message so clearly now contained competing voices. Nearby, a tribe of grasshoppers, once so small as if to be barely noticed, were busily at work to the hymn of many stories told in unison.
Their small, ordinary voices projected high above the brush and brambles, cresting over the leaves and trees, echoing across the hilltops and the heavens above, and washing out the ant’s voice with a deep thrum. No longer persuaded, the colony laid down its tools and wandered off.
Defeated, the ant hung his head, kicked an acorn top and exited into the brush where he saw a grasshopper. He tapped his spiny shoulder, interrupting his work—and his story—in progress.
“My colony no longer hears me,” the ant said. “You have an ordinary voice and no epaulets to show your rank. Why does your tribe listen to you?”
“Because my stories are my truth, spoken from the heart” the grasshopper said. “Therefore,” he went on, “they’re true to my tribe. “Many truths spoken softly are more powerful than one truth shouted from the hilltops.”