The clock strikes midnight and I wonder every night what happened to eleven and ten and all the other hours. Did they really pass? If so, they managed it in unobtrusive silence. But midnight chimes, declaring itself from the bell tower I can see from my window. While my practical understanding reminds me time is controlled by computers in the modern world, my romantic side wishes that the old monk buried just outside the ancient graveyard, (because he committed suicide by jumping out of the Manor window and hence can't be buried on consecrated ground) was the one who rang the bells every night, lifting my thoughts from study to remember for even a fleeting moment the call of the eternal.