Within Pierce Hall there is a courtyard that remains unseen. A little stairwell takes you to this hidden plaza, where stone benches and stray plots of grass stand within the building’s shadow. White walls designed by some uncanny architect rise up on each side of the plaza. On them are posted window panes, and in them you can see bright bulbs of glowing light, and occasionally a student’s head as they pass down the hall.Â
In the morning sunlight glimmers on the naked tree bark and through the overhanging limbs. Beyond them you can see the faint figure of the Belltower. Dry red leaves lay strewn across the tiled grounds, crushing lightly underfoot as if they held no weight at all. Grasshoppers perch within the cracked floor like mock flowers, rising suddenly once seen, unfurling a mirage of wings before rising up into the air to clear the walls completely. Bees drone in the bright green bushes, and they are the only sound one hears within that hidden sector, as all other noise seems to be distant or unheard.Â
In the evening when the light has failed, the trees resume a darker shade and stand tall and rigid in the coming dusk. The sky waning overhead fades slowly from blue to black, and every sound on campus seems to die off with it. A few bulbs of light are still glowing in the glass windows, making faint shadows of the trees that sprawl across the darkened lot.Â
There is no sound. The bees are sleeping somewhere and the students are gone too. It is at this moment that one thinks to leave, but a sound breaks all that frail silence, forcing you to turn. The sound swings slowly from side to side, tolling in the thin night air. It is the sound of the Belltower calling out the hour for each sleeping soul, like some ritualistic sentinel.Â
