I remember the sound very well.

Wind chime,
Swang by the autumn breeze, it rings and the tune lingers.
Then the breeze ceases, for too long, too long.
Impatience grows. The yearning cries.
How far away is it, before we hear the tinkle?

Ian says that the sound reminds him of being in his mum’s room.
I remember that well.
As we sat by her sleeping peacefully in the soft afternoon light
The chime tinkled in the wind so light, so light.
I dreamed with my eyes half open.
My empty feeling, filled and soothed
By the soft tune of the chime emanated from outside.

This metal, harmonic wind chime
Has the feel that resonates with dream.

I found the cast iron one the other day.
It was made in Japan.
I saw one hanging under the eaves
Once upon a time in my grandpa’s house.
It had the same simple clear sound
That resonates with the summers
I spent with him and my relatives.

My grandma had the glass one.
The beautiful, so beautiful the glass wind chime
Which this naughty little girl I know very well
Used to poke with her finger.

It had the subtle, light tune
That reminds me of the end of the summer

I remember very well.