hum

A cacophony of church bells, near and far, tinkling and tolling.
Seven.
There are few other sounds, other than those bells, coming in from nearby Saint Martins, then there is the sound of Saint Jodoks, the Ursuline convent and the Jesuit church. Then there are bells faint with distance, from all over the surrounding contryside.
Seven in the morning, people will have to start their days, their work, their pleasure, their travels.

The echoes of voices in the street, early rising building workers. They started work at seven, bringing and collecting, mixing concrete, using whirring cranes.
It is not particularly loud, in a way pleasant. Distant rumbles of cars passing, then the occasional noise of a small scooter.

The family is asleep, unimpressed by it all.
The rest of the family.
The cat is awake.
The father is awake.
So near to half the family is awake.
After all.

There are more voices outside, low muttering.

It is holiday time

Fill up the dishwasher with dirty dishes, pots and pans, and put in a detergent tablet. Press the button, Now that starts to hum too.