A Garden Chime

I stepped past the porch steps and walked down the avenue until the sweet scent of damp greenery led me into an open flower market. Tucked near the edge of a low wooden trestle bench was a galvanized metal watering can with a wide, perforated brass sprinkler rose. I climbed onto the weathered slat beside it and peered at the tiny brass holes. Reaching into the soil of a nearby potted cyclamen, I picked up a smooth, clean river pebble. With a crisp flick of my wrist, I let the stone tap against the perforated brass plate. It rang out in a bright, tinkling chime that cut through the humid garden air. Catching the rhythm, I tapped out a playful cadence against the spout, feeling the cool mist settle lightly on my arms.