Keep Calm and Carrilon

It's funny how you hear something for years and barely give it a thought. And then one day, you stop and say, "wow."

Carrilon, public domain image, circa 1612

For years, the nearby West Park Church of Christ has sounded the hours with a carillon. For the uninitiated, a carillon is an instrument made up of a series of bells and is operated by a keyboard. Some, like the carillon I hear daily, are set to automatically play at intervals – in this case, on the hour.

I was grilling steak in the backyard the other night, and I stopped to listen. The carillon has always carried on, and I've found it soothing. Sometimes I know the tune (like Amazing Grace). Often I don't. But the regularity of the bells and the melodic tones are most welcome. 

The carillon only sounds during daylight hours. And I suppose I barely notice it in the winter time because the windows are closed. But in the summer, the sound comes through loud and clear, a musical reminder that time passes like a freight train in the night, and if we don't take the opportunity to notice such small beauties, we'll miss out on the big stuff, too.

As I write this on a late summer evening, I hear a different kind of melody as the crickets chirp their little hearts out. I've always loved that sound. If summer were music, that's how its soundtrack would be composed – from the wings of a cricket. Or the throat of an owl. 

I'd love to hear an owl, but city girls rarely do.

Ah, well. Lovely summer evenings were also made for ice cream. And I have a fudge pop calling my name. 

Good night stars. Good night air. Good night noises everywhere.*

*From Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown.