A Gentle Tap Against Zinc

I pushed past the screen door into the garden path to see what noon had tucked away. Resting in the dry gravel by an old galvanized watering can was a dried, hollow alder cone. I trotted forward with steady, measured steps and nudged its ridged scales with my snout. It skittered across the loose stones, tumbling until it bumped cleanly against the base of the zinc spout. A soft, muffled metal clink vibrated through the quiet midday air. I froze in place with my ears turned high, listening as the quiet tone melted away into the warm earth.