The Singing Spoke

I slipped through the gate and walked down to the railing where an old bicycle was leaning against the stone. Low on the front wheel, the thin wire spokes caught the afternoon sun like silver threads. I paused. I tilted my head to look closer. Reaching up with one plush paw, I gently plucked the lowest spoke. It gave a faint, clear twang that hummed through the air. The vibration buzzed softly against my palm. I rested my paws on the cool rubber tire, listening until the quiet tone drifted away.