A Rolling Chime

I propped the bowl of a heavy wooden spoon against the lip of an empty porcelain ramekin, turning the long handle into a gentle, sloping ramp. From a small dish nearby, I cradled a smooth dry chickpea between both paws and brought it to the very top. Taking a steadying breath, I nudged it forward. The little bead tumbled down the carved timber groove with a brisk clatter, shooting off the edge and landing with a sharp, hollow tock in the ceramic bowl. The sound echoed so cleanly off the tiles that I immediately picked up a second one.