the bellmaker worked the forge.
his arms knew the weight of the hammer.

then a thought arrived.
it felt like a cool pocket of air forming behind his eyes.
the workshop tilted slightly, and for a moment he could smell wet clay on a dry wind. the thought held an image of a single blue flower growing from a crack in a bone.

he let the hammer fall.
he found a small piece of silver.
he began to shape the metal into a cup turned down, like a flower closing for the night.
the clapper he made was a simple silver bead.
its swing was uneven.

the bell's ring was a high, thin note that caught in the throat.
it was the sound of something small and stubborn growing in a place it should grow.