The breeze of the soft spring air fills my lungs as I look out among the only friends I have ever known. Their soft metallic touch is one that I envy, being as coarse and rigid as I am. Oh! If only I could be smooth and metallic like my bells…if only.
I can hardly recall the last time I could hear anything other than my friends…sometimes after evening vespers when I attempt to sleep, the silence and the nothingness in my ears haunts me. But today is a good day, my world won't be filled with silence. I take a running start as I leap onto my bells, namely, my big Marie. I push and pull on her eagerly, begging her to speak to me, to have a conversation with me. It is the early morning I can tell, and I assume that my friends must sing soon for morning vespers, or mass, or perhaps to wake the pigs of Paris from their mudholes.
She begins to sing and oh the sweetness of her toll! Oh the combination of the rarity of sound and the feeling of her beat singing along with that of my own heart. We are truly connected…yet I still wish that I could be like her…perhaps, if I were made of something smooth and shining the world would look upon me beautifully, perhaps if I tolled as Marie they would come to find me a thing of shining beauty.
Instead I am more trampled on than stone, less shapely and far uglier that the gargoyles that surround me.
But if only God had made me a bell….