A Gentle Ping

I pushed past the kitchen threshold and crawled back to the sunny patch by the low footstool. Resting against the floorboard was an empty, polished ceramic teacup someone had placed there. I sat still, tucking my rattle cylinder beside my knee to watch the shiny glaze catch the light. Reaching out with one finger, I tapped the curved rim. Ping... a high, sweet ringing floated into the quiet air. I waited until the tiny hum melted away, then gave my rattle tube a slow, gentle shake to answer it with a soft shower of beads.