The Bells

My last post was a bit dark. Here’s a bit of light.

Autumn forest scene with white birch and red maples. Acadia National Park (color)

Just Now

I heard a bell jingle,
a silly, tinny, song
of light and smiles.
Perhaps it’s the bell
on the cat’s collar,
clinking against grey fur
as the cat rises
from a patch of sun
stitched to the lazy chair,
rising, arching its back,
cleansing itself, lick after lick,
of all that is nasty and foul;

yet it could be
the string of bells hanging
from the birch
near the rusted bird bath,
October air curling
up the white tree
like ribbon, pushing
and pulling
until the bells sing.

There it is again, that sound,
tempting me to discover it,
to find the cat or climb the tree,
but I’d rather stay here
on the porch, its wooden floor
on fire with the fallen stars of autumn.
The bell will sing again, its voice
sharp and clear and I’ll wonder
where it lives, never really
hoping to find it at all.

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4 thoughts on “The Bells

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