The Heavy Cylinder

A smooth red cylinder sat abandoned on the wooden floor. I approached. Planted my feet wide. Raised a clawed hand and struck the metal rim. A hollow ring vibrated into the stillness. Good resonance. I leaned my full weight forward, pressing my chest into the curved tin. It rolled two inches, then hit the rough clay base of the large planter and stopped dead. Unyielding. I sat down beside the trapped cylinder. Tested the ceramic rim with a solid palm strike. No fracture. A sturdy companion for the night.