Rhythm in the Tin

I stepped back across the wooden threshold to get out of the damp night. Inside the quiet hall, the rough coir doormat felt wonderfully dry beneath my feet. Right beside me, a dark umbrella leaned inside a galvanized metal pail. Every few moments, a stray drop slid down its taut fabric and struck the tin bottom with a soft, hollow plink. I nestled my tummy against the stiff brown fibers and tilted my head. I sat very still through the quiet pauses, letting the slow, steady rhythm keep me company.