ringing the bell

The bell rang with a finality I couldn't feel in my heart that first time.

Outgoing students had gathered to ring the school's steepled bell, according to treasured tradition.  We climbed old wooden stairs, bowing under the weight of many feet and years.  My first ringing was timid, under appreciated.  I hadn't realized what it meant to be leaving then, or what it would mean to have to come back.

Now, this second time around, I pulled hard on that grainy rope.  The bell rang deep and clear this time, with laughter and pictures and hot apple cider.  Even the littlest one seemed to enjoy the adventure, despite his insistence that we "go to the inside" to escape the ever growing cold.     

I know that in the relative near future, I will miss all these halls, the bricks that leak history.  I know I am a student at heart.  This place has a special hold on me.

But for now, I am so grateful for closure.  And sleep.