Echolalia, an early warning sign of …
I can almost hear a savannah-bound animal through the not-so-distant murmur of time, but the static has grown unusually thick today and has taken on a strange and hypnotic form: chants of war, rosary prayers begging for peace, tragedy and comedy built around chorus and refrain, the watchmen crying their cycling hours, tribal histories passed down as sung recipe, the recitation of poetry with its beguiling trick of rhyme, and finally those incessant, relentless demands for justice—the repeated rhetorical rapture of “I have a dream ….”
Echolalia, an early warning sign of … a language disability?
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