In every season a bell,
struck by an unknown hand,
sounds through the wind.
A quavering deep note 
awakens, lifts and pulls
out of the open door
into the live and wild world.

I would sleep and dream
lie in soft bedding
drift off again to wait
for bird call, train whistle - 
sounds I know - but, in every season
every night and shadow move,
I hear a bell - the same -
that calls, beckons, bewitches.
___________________________________________

Portland, Oregon - October 27, 2021