Echoes in Zinc

Hopped off the backdoor sill and darted across the weathered porch planks—tap, clack, scuttle! Right under the bench rested an empty zinc watering can, tipped sideways among dried maple leaves. A massive metal cavern! I trotted over, cocked a bony knuckle, and gave the curved belly a crisp flick. DOOONG! A deep, buzzing chime rattled right up through my ribs. Marvelous! I snatched a stiff oak twig from the boards, planted my heels on a porch seam, and rolled out a galloping beat—ping, tonk, clang! The whole hollow cylinder answered back with ringing shivers. Pure porch music!