A bell holds an orchestra. Strike it once and dozens of frequencies spring to life — the fundamental and its overtones, each decaying at its own pace, some slightly mistuned so they beat against each other like slow breathing.
Temple bells are cast to ring for minutes. The Japanese call this yoin: the lingering resonance, the aftertaste of sound. The bell has finished speaking, but its voice hangs in the air.
Strike it. Then listen — really listen — as each voice fades into silence. The silence at the end is part of the sound.
What remains after the ringing stops?