Tangled Chime

Stepping across the slate bridge, I tracked the flagstone border toward a low wind chime suspended near the garden wall. Its round wooden striker was wedged sideways against a dried, spiraling vine, silencing the hollow brass tubes. Sheathing my blade, I hoisted myself onto the sturdy rim of an empty glazed flowerpot to reach the knot. Bracing my boots against the cool ceramic edge, I caught the brittle vine with both hands. With a measured twist, I peeled the stiff tendril away from the braided cord. Released from tension, the wooden disc swung back to center, brushing the brass pipes with a clear, resonant chime. I paused to listen and gave a quiet, approving nod.