Concaved by a century of feet they lay near silent pines and underneath a clear, insistent litany of bells. Inside, the glass and varnish bore their own unspoken witness to a hundred years of care but none displayed encapsulated history as well as those eroded stones. Their sunken centres trapped the weather where the remnants of the autumn drizzle filled the hollows in the ﬂag-stones. Chains of fractured, slate-cupped tower-reflections held within the rain-filled craters lay as still as Sunday morning, clear as lead-lined, diamond-patterned window panes or testaments of bells. * A concrete mixer waited near the gate. Form-work framed the rain-chains in the slate. How neatly they repair the wearing there.