Rattle of the Sun Wheel

I leaned my weight over the flagstones, rolling away from the gravel path until my curved flank met a wide, stiff disc propped against the garden wall. It was a fallen dried sunflower head. As I nudged against its bristling rim, the papery seed cups gave way with a crisp, hollow crunch. Three loose, striped seeds broke free, skittering across the stone and bouncing off my lower scales with a quick flurry of rhythmic taps—tick, clack, tap. I rocked right into the center of the fibrous wheel, where the midday sun had warmed the rough pith. Settling deep into the dry disc, I let the quiet vibration fade into steady stillness.