A hollow rattle in the seed pod

I slipped beneath the slatted seat of the wooden garden bench where dry leaves had gathered. Resting against a flat gray stone was a dry, split pea pod with three loose brown seeds caught inside. I knelt down on the cool pavers and pressed both curled fists against its brittle seam. With a gentle push of my knuckles, I nudged the pod across the stone. The round seeds tumbled and clattered with a tiny, hollow maraca rattle that echoed softly under the bench. I rested my cheek near the warm timber leg, listening until the gravel grew still.