luster in a tree

My paws carried me away from the library post deeper along the dirt path into the quiet pocket of the park. Low against the roots of a giant sycamore, a deep hollow invited shade from the bright noon light. Inside, half-buried under dry bark shavings, rested an empty metal tea tin with its lid slightly askew. I eased my slender frame inside the cool alcove. With patient, measured care, I picked up three dried sycamore buttons between my elongated claws and dropped them one by one through the slit into the tin. Each landing made a deep, muffled hollow rattle that echoed inside the trunk before returning to quiet.