Steep and Whistle

I set my guitar aside on its stand and reached up toward an empty glass honey jar sitting on the kitchen shelf. A small wooden honey dripper rested inside, its carved grooves catching the early sun. Gripping the slender handle with both hands, I swirled it gently against the rounded glass wall. It produced a smooth, ringing friction that warbled like an ascending flute trill. Down on the floor mat, the cat looked up with wide, mesmerized eyes, while the dog gave a soft, curious snort from the doorway.