The Bell

A bell. She once heard it often. It was a chime that heralded joy and comfort. She remembers it fondly though she only hears it now in her dreams.

Last Christmas her grandbabies got her a windchime. It was small, delicate, quaint. She still listens to it on her porch, rocking in her chair. But the wind was fickle, coming and going as it pleased. It didn't have the warmth she so missed. And though she would hold her hand out to grab hold of it, the air would slip past her fingers every time.

She once had a guest so loving that it would ring a bell for her all day. Though it was but the smallest of its virtues she has come to miss the small things too.

But now the house is quiet, and the only ring she hears is just a ghost in the breeze.