It sat in the hallway. Nestled between a coat rack and a table full of trinkets my grandparents had collected through out the years. Every fifteen minutes its melodious notes would ring out reminding us that the time we had was slowly drifting away like a toy boat out on the current of the creek in our backyard. I don’t know where or how grandfather clocks came by their name, only that it seems every grandpa I know had one some where in their house that would ring out when it was time to go home.

Their melodies were never quite the same either yet whether it sounded the Westminster Chimes, the Whittington Chimes, or the Saint Michael’s Chimes each one had a soulful story it could tell in a matter of seconds. Reminding those listening of times spent in Church or on a town square. It always seemed reassuring as well, when I would stay at their house for a night or two, when those chimes would sound. Majestic, careworn and loved, my grandfather’s clock was a timeless treasure I’ll always remember.