A Quiet Rattle

A colorful paper packet rested flat against the weathered planks of the potting bench. Cradling my wrapped cake securely under one arm, I climbed up onto a low overturned crate to inspect it closer. The front showed a painted cluster of purple blossoms, and its paper top was folded into a remarkably crisp, straight crease. I paused, then reached out with a polite paw to press the corner. A dry, delicate crinkle responded, followed by a tiny rattle of seeds shifting within, like sugar sprinkles in a box. It sounded wonderfully pleasant. With two gentle nudges, I aligned the packet squarely with the timber grain and listened to the afternoon quiet.