A Soft Clatter

I wandered past the porch steps and followed the dry earth along the garden border. Tucked beside a flat gray flagstone, a clean, empty metal jar lid rested upside down in the grit. Beside it lay three dry brown seeds. Leaning forward on both knees, I used my curled fists to nudge one seed over the sharp metal rim. It dropped into the shallow tin cup with a tiny, musical plink that hung sweet and clear in the noon quiet. I rested my knuckles against the warm stone, listening as the faint ring faded away.