Bells are ringing

It’s funny. I never used to have any particular associations with bells. I mean, I appreciated them as I appreciate most lovely things.

Today, walking across Aotea Square as the 8 am bells rung out from the clock tower, my thoughts swung back to the wedding. Walking out of the old church on Tobermory’s – my husband’s! – arm, the church bells pealing, and unashamedly crying. That was when it first sunk in, I think. This man beside me is my husband, we’ve really done this.

That’s what I think of now when I hear bells. That odd moment of happiness so strange it hurts, on my husband’s arm.

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