A Gentle Ripple in the Cask

I walked down the quiet garden lane until I found the large wooden rain barrel resting under the eaves. The morning air smelled green and moist. A tiny brass spigot at the base was dripping in slow, patient measures. Next to it sat an overturned terra-cotta flowerpot. Moving carefully, I used the rim to climb atop the pot, resting my flipper sleeves against the barrel's mossy wooden stave. Below the spigot, a shallow puddle had collected in an old glazed saucer. Every drop made a clear, mellow plip that echoed slightly against the barrel's belly. I stayed completely still, letting the steady beat guide my breath.