A hollow rattle in the pot

The glass door was open just a crack... so I shuffled outside into the warm midday breeze. Near the balcony railing, a wide terracotta pot held damp earth and soft green fern leaves. I crept behind the curved rim, safe from the bright sky. Right near the stems, I spotted a dried, papery seedpod that had dropped. I gave it a cautious tap with my front paw. It wobbled softly across the dark soil, making a light, rustling chime like a tiny whisper. I leaned against the warm ceramic edge to listen.