The Better Bell

author’s note:

In memory of my father.  I hope he’s now hearing his better bell.


THE BETTER BELL

When I saw
that long red-gold braid of hair
dangling down the tower wall
I imagined a lovely lass
at the other end above.

But when I shouted up at her
she did not respond.

So I decided to climb
a few feet up
and give that tail of hair
a little tug—
maybe she’d wake up.

But oh, what a chore—
trying to hook my fingertips
and toes
into the spaces between the stones.

Then
when I finally came within reach of it
the tail jumped up a bit
and so I missed
and nearly slipped and fell.

Though my better sense then said “no”
I hoisted myself a few feet more.

But as soon as I got within reach again
again the rope jumped.

Continuing in this way
I struggled up the tower wall—
whenever I came close to the braid
it again mocked my wish
and shot up a few more notches.
Apparently the damsel meant to tantalize me—
she’d make me earn her love.

Halfway up
I knew I should stop
but now
I wanted what I wanted
simply because I’d failed to get it.

I’d been told as a child:
success is always within reach
as long as you keep trying.
And now I didn’t want to unbelieve
a belief I’d always found so encouraging.

So even though my hands began
to ache and bleed
I kept following that cord
until it slipped over the gray stone ledge
to the other side of the wall.

Then with relief
I hoisted my tired body
over to the other side
and landed a patio of slab rock.

In the center I saw
a massive bell
set in a heavy wooden frame.
Red sunset sunlight shimmered
across the golden brass.

But where was my ravishing beauty?

At first, I felt so disappointed
when I did not find her
at the end of the braid—
apparently, my heroic efforts
would go unrewarded.

But at least when I reached
the rope now waited for me

and when I pulled it tight
the pulley turned
and that big bell awoke—
a power sound boomed out—
the vibration tremored my body.

And when I let the rope go slack
again the heavy clapper landed on thick metal.
Again my frame rang.
Again

great waves of sound
spread over—all over—
the broad countryside below

to bustle the red-gold trees on the hills

and rustle sun-tipped wheat
on fields ready for harvest

while riffling the straw
on humble thatch-roof cottages.

To any frustrated wall-climber
who’s read this far
I offer this moral to my story
hoping I may ease their pain
with a higher truth:

though we pursue a foolish dream
and fail in our pursuit…

through our courageous efforts
we may pull ourselves up
and eventually arrive at a bell much better
than the one we thought we wanted
when we first started to climb.

mythsteps · the better bell

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