At dusk, the temple yard is silent. A twiggy tree twists and leans, shading no one but seemingly stretching toward something unknown. Nothing can be heard, save the buzz of low-flying insects when they get too near.
Then someone clangs the brass bell -- just one sharp snap of the bell tongue. But the tone hangs in the night air, piercing something unseen.
temple yard at dusk,
the silence is broken
by the brass bell