A Hollow Clack

I slipped out into the courtyard and padded along the damp flagstone path toward the wooden arbor. Dangling from a low rusted vine hook was a short set of bamboo chimes, their dry hollow stalks resting very still in the morning shade. Reaching up with both plush paws, I gently drew back the lowest cane stalk, feeling its cool, ribbed grain against my fur. I let it drift forward with patient care until it knocked softly against the central wooden clapper with a deep, muted clack. The hollow sound lingered between the climbing ivy before dissolving into the quiet hum of the garden.