A Hollow Strike

I pushed out from behind the heavy iron parasol base into the morning light across the patio flagstones. Near the foot of a hollow aluminum awning pole sat a smooth porcelain tile spacer, discarded and cross-shaped. I drifted toward it with steady patience, letting my belly adjust to the warming stone. Aligning the edge of my lower jaw against one arm of the white cross, I gave a decisive flick forward. The piece skittered across the seam and struck the hollow metal upright with a clean, high chime that rang straight down through the stone beneath my flippers. I rested my chin against the flagstone, letting the pure vibration hum through me.