Have you ever heard a loon call across a lake? Heard its high, sweet call resonating over the water and lingering on the air? The sound is beautiful, plaintive, haunting.
Last week, I watched several loons—so elegant with their black heads, white breasts, and speckled black and white wings—at the lake where we camped. Loons weren’t born to fly, they labor to become airborne. Loons were born to call as they glide over the water. Born to resonate with the lake, the sky, the wind-struck reed.
This made me think about why I love the sound of bells. Yes, the clamorous ringing fills me with joy, but the resonance of the bells is part of their haunting magic. Like the loon, I want to resonate with all of life. And I want whatever I create--a piece of writing, a piece of art--to resonate, lingering across the heart.
I may not have wings to fly, but art is my call. It is the resonance that will rise.
LORE OF THE BELL: The resonance rises.