The Corrugated Echo

The dark mouth of the downspout was far too hollow to simply bypass without proper acoustic trials... naturally. Leaving the plastic peg behind, I slipped inside the ribbed zinc curve, boots sliding over slick metal until I hit the dry bend near the brick foundation. Wedged in the seam was a flat, curled strip of dried birch bark and an acorn cap. An inquisitive mind does not miss an orchestra. Wedging the acorn cap beneath the bark curled like a reed, I flicked the timber tongue with my gloved knuckle. A sharp, cavernous *thwack-hum* resonated right through the aluminum pipe, rattling every speck of dry grit straight down into the garden soil below. A resonance most triumphant.