The Metal String

I hopped down the porch step and followed the smooth paving stones toward the brick wall. A bicycle was parked there, resting on its kickstand. Down near the cobblestones, the thin silver spokes converged like a fan around the axle. I stopped, tilting my head close to the wheel. With a careful, unhurried nod, I let the curve of my beak graze against one taut wire. A high, ringing chime shivered through the metal and hummed softly against my beak. I nudged the next spoke. A slightly deeper tone hummed back. I stood quietly on the cool stones, listening as the gentle notes faded.