A Quiet Clink

I hopped from the hallway runner onto the low wooden console table, keeping my pumpkin held securely against my chest. Resting inside a speckled ceramic dish was an old brass key, tied with a twisted twine loop. It looked heavy and very patient, with three little notched teeth at the end. I paused, letting the brim of my hat settle, then reached out one paw to give the rounded bow a gentle tap. It slid across the smooth glaze with a clear, singing clink. The cool metal smelled of secret drawers and quiet attics. I sat down beside the rim, watching it rest peacefully in the soft afternoon light.