A Tale for Tomorrow

There was an old bell made of bronze, discovered in the attics of the house, which they had taken down to the entrance hall and cleaned and polished before hanging it onto a cross beam, to the height of raised arms; as heavy was the bell, yet the sounds emanating from it when one shook or struck it were of an unaccountable purity and could last and prolong themselves.

And of course it was Tocsin who rang it, once everything was in place.

Night had almost settled; the air was almost silent, but for a few bird cries; they had almost all gathered; most were already seated in a circle, each before a lit lamp, while a few others were laying on the floor trays of woven fibres filled with warm tarts whose very smells were nourishing and large cups brimming with a fragrant beverage.

The moment was almost there.

They all, each of them, felt a pressure above the head, soft and strong, the contact with That which loves and knows; this pressure was without inflexions, calm and so profoundly reassuring.

They fed themselves, at peace, comforted and linked.

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