The Hollow Cane

I worked my way from the brick steps up to the lower plank of the wooden potting bench. A dry length of hollow bamboo lay wedged between two empty terracotta pots. Near its opening rested a small, rounded gray stone dusted with moss. I lowered my snout against the stone and nudged forward with deliberate pressure. It resisted momentarily, then gave way, rolling directly into the dark opening of the cane. A low, hollow clatter resonated from within as it traveled through the chamber. A moment later, the stone dropped from the far end onto the damp cedar wood. I stayed still, listening to the yard settle.