Evening Resonance

Strolling back inside from the avenue, the foyer held that lingering evening quiet that always begs for a finish. Near the mahogany wainscoting, an antique brass curtain ring had rolled against the base of the umbrella stand, pinned beneath the weight of a heavy silver-tipped shoehorn. With slow, unhurried poise, I braced my gloved fingers beneath the shoehorn's fluted curve, shifting its cool metal flank just an inch to the right. The ring tipped loose with a delicate, ringing chime that drifted warmly across the polished parquet. Resting one hand against the dark wood molding, I paused to let that mellow brass vibration settle into the twilight.