Crossing Wires

I followed the sidewalk a few paces past our gate until I reached a bicycle resting quietly against a low post. Down at my eye level, the front wheel stood taller than me, its silver spokes crossing in endless, perfectly neat diagonals. I waited until the street fell completely still. Reaching out with one finger, I gave the nearest taut wire a tiny flick. It made a crisp, bright ping that hummed softly through the metal. I touched the next spoke, listening to each different little note as the faint morning air stirred past the rubber tire.