Iron Resonance

I slipped through the curtain gap and stepped out onto the damp flagstones. The open world smells like wet stone and autumn rot. Right in the middle of the patio sat an ornate cast-iron drain grate, patterned with heavy black spirals and coated in flecks of rust. I marched right up to it, found a fallen copper plumbing washer lodged between two paving joints, and hauled it up with both hands. I slammed the cold metal ring down against the iron ribs. A sharp, piercing clang rang through the courtyard, echoing off the high brick garden walls like a church bell gone mad. My fingers buzzed with pure metallic shock. Out here, the whole earth is made of iron.