A Ringing Prism

I noticed an empty glass milk bottle resting near a wooden fruit crate by the sideboard. Curious about its shape, I nudged the clear rim with the soft side of my paw. *Clink.* A high, singing ring drifted into the room. I peered down through the narrow neck, then leaned close and softly blew across the smooth glass opening. A low, hollow flute sound hummed back against my nose. I tilted my head, admiring how such a silent bottle could hold both a bright chime and a deep, breathing whistle.