The Singing Cylinder

A slender silver tube rested half-hidden under the low fern fronds beside the path. Head tilt left, head tilt right. Did it hold something inside? I crept forward on quiet toes, pausing to inspect the mirror-bright sheen. I reached out and tapped the rim with my bill—ting! A clear, singing note hummed through the garden air. I hopped back, but it lay perfectly still. Crouching low, I peeked right into the open hollow. A glowing dot of daylight winked back from the far end! Delighted, I braced my hind feet and nudged the tube with both forepaws. It rolled smoothly across the flagstones—ting-a-ling—singing with every rotation.