These same church bells chime in some of my earliest memories. A product of living near where I grew up.
I notice them most through the late summer cicada gilded air. It's so still and quiet you can hear dragonfly wings out in the garden.
They chime non-linear time and I never know where they'll turn me up.
Out on the beach sifting through stones time is stacked, rounded and churned. There are shapes and colors so primitive we can't possibly understand them, but of course we all do.
These things travel with us like stone dragonflies darting forward backward and side to side through time.