The Casting of Bells

 “Okay, what I have to say about that is…” Somehow, she knew what was coming.

He scuttled out to stand where he had stood before—

where she didn’t need to see him,

where she could hear him without words—

at the china cabinet.

 

He rattled bell after bell:

riding a dolphin for her fiftieth

in San Diego,

four-wheeling in Colorado with family,

smuggling shoes in the name of Jesus

into the school in the dump

at Puerto Vallarta.

 

“I could cast different sized bells,”

he suddenly appeared at the foot of their bed again.

“And hang them on ropes in the forest,”

she too thick

in the jungle of last night’s sleep

to dream,

 

“and run from rope to rope

 to ring them!” Yes, she stirred,

he would run;

he would ring for them

 when she could not.

 

“Casting bells…”

His flickering eyes flashed.

His fingers danced together on their toes.

“I wonder what that would be like...”

“Writing poems,”

she said to an empty room

                                                and picked up her pencil.     Laurel Turner c. 12/21/2020

We are God's workmanship

created in Christ Jesus

for good works

which He prepared

before hand

that we should walk in them.