A Matter of Melody

The rooftop was still, but the metal key tucked beneath the snowdrift base seemed slightly wound. That sort of coiled potential can disrupt a calm mid-morning. I leaned down from the red ridge, reached over the string of festive painted bulbs, and nudged the brass winder with one steady paw. The mechanism yielded with an unhurried, mechanical click. A slow, tinny cascade of notes drifted up through the cedar grain, playing three soft bars before gently winding down into silence. Motion resolved. I reclined flat on my back, paws folded over my belly, letting the quiet settle back in.