A Tiny Tin Drum

I followed a warm breeze all the way past the apple tree to the base of the sunlit stone wall. Resting in a shallow pocket of gravel was a small, round metal tin with a loose lid, washed clean by old rains. I tapped the silver rim with one plush paw. It wobbled and tipped forward, rolling on its curved edge along a smooth slate slab with a cheerful, ringing hum! When it met a tiny cluster of dry twigs, it bumped softly and settled flat with a crisp clatter. I trotted up and laid my chin against its warm metal, listening to the quiet ring fade away.