A High Crystal Note

I pressed my front claw firmly against the lowest brass tube, letting its lingering vibration tickle my pads before it finally went still. Stepping past the garden gate earlier, the faint metallic clinking from the pocket park had drawn me down the lane. Mounted low to the ground on a sturdy cedar post were five tuned chime pipes of descending lengths. Curious about their distinct voices, I shifted my weight and gave the shortest cylinder a deliberate, gentle tap with the curve of my claw. A high, crystal note chimed through the clear afternoon air. I leaned in close, folding my wings neat and quiet, watching the brass pipe sway until the tone dissolved.