The Bells, The Bells

There is a church less than a block from where I live and everyday at noon, a bell rings--most of the time it rings once, then twice, and ends in a trio of resonating sound--but today the bell is late.  The bell has no religious value to me but I have developed, what one would call, a dependency.  Noon.  Noon noon.  Noon noon noon.   

Sitting in what I call silence (the freeway hum, roaring planes, and ambulance sirens aside)I stare at the cable box clock blinking an orange 12:02.  I have a theory that the bell is actually hand rung because the dings (is that what you call it?) are always in a different succession.  Imagine a priest or father, maybe a nun, setting  her alarm for 11:48a.m. so she can stand beneath the mouth of the bell and pull its ropey tongue.