Sitting on a sunny bench just outside the library, eating a salad while puzzling over the identity of the song pealing over the carillon: ah yes, this is where I belong. Students and others mill about, heading toward classes or lunch or simply killing time, as I am. I find my office in the dungeon much more bearable if I spend some time outside in the sun every day, so I'm idly watching colorful people pass by while soaking up some sun and trying to empty my mind.
Except for that song, that perky, jaunty song with the melody that sounds vaguely familiar. I ought to know it, but there's something not quite right, like a merry-go-round steam organ trying to perform a rendition of the Dies Irae.
Finally I've got it: "Something in the Way She Moves," not a particularly carnivalesque song but what can you do with a carillon? Next comes "The Sound of Silence." Apparently, the carillon is trying to take us down memory lane. It wouldn't surprise me at all to look up and see the carillon tower dressed in tie-dye and beads.
But I won't look up. I don't want to ruin the moment. I'm happy to just sit, eat my salad, and watch the passersby while the sound wafts over me.