village gloaming

Listening to the church bell ring as the light fades over this slice of the Carpathians. I’m glad to note that it’s rung by a person.  So many seem managed by machines. And while I’m hardly religious in the formal sense, if anything seems sacrilegious, it’s a robotic call to prayer.

It’s easy to hear the human touch.  The irregularity of the rhythm, the attempt to keep it steady and rush to catch up when one falls behind.  One ringer’s version of devotion on display.

And I smile when things get off kilter at the end, which they always seem to, and imagine it’s because all that jumping at the end of the rope means someone’s pants are slipping.  Can’t prove it.  Never rung a bell that long myself. But it makes me smile nonetheless, and in my own way, I believe. It could be true.

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