Bells

Their bells chime silently in the whispering wind.

And as you lay there amongst the sun and the yellowed grass, you listen to them. It's soft and quiet here, and it smells of morning dew and nourished earth and promises and promises and stay with me, stay forever.

This place you found under a canopy of leaves  that day. First in the wake of your dreams then again when they drove you away bloodied and emptied.

Your car stands rusting and lonely, waiting for you, it has been for a while now, and it's asking you to turn your eyes its way.

Please. It says, return to me.

But the bells are chiming in the whispering wind and who would be here to listen if not you?

Only when darkness falls, does the music begin, swirling and twirling with the sound of their bells. You can hear them in the darkness, you can taste their salt on your tongue. You breathe them in each morning, and they kiss you each night before the bells lull you to sleep.

You hear the others, as they twinkle in the horizon and sway and chime chime in the wind.

They sound like your bells, So much like your bells. Pleading and questioning and begging you to come. You don't know these people - these bells.

They're not yours, and you aren't there's.

I cannot, you say.

Why? The fruit of our hearts and the dawn of our days answer us. We have been waiting so very long.

Why?

The wind you say and the grass, the song of the Linnet and the taste of their kisses. The smell of the earth, the car.

And the bells, always and forever the bells.