the church of bells

the bells were ringing, we heard them through the trees. the sound seemed diffuse, our ears could not disentangle it from the sounds the birds made, the wind in the leaves, our footsteps, our breath.

in those days it was always summer. cracks in the canopy made little haloes of light, pools of magic that we bathed in.

the bells hung from a huge tower in front of the chapel, they rang each day before midday service, ushering the congretation inside. A thousand tiny little peals of music and melody, a thousand leaves, a thousand little envelopes of sound. Here in the midday light, you and I, in the plateau of infinity: we could hear every little thing.