The Hollow Grate

I stepped out across the porch threshold, leaving the indoor tiles behind for the gritty texture of outdoor stone. Near the base of the brick wall sat a heavy cast-iron drain grate, recessed into the flagstones. A faint draft rose through the slotted metal, carrying a deep, hollow whisper from the subterranean pipe beneath. I planted both feet squarely over the iron ribs and pressed my weight down. A solid metallic chime vibrated through the metal and resonated straight up through my legs. Tilting forward toward the cool darkness below, I let out a low grumble of approval into the quiet afternoon air.