A Rest for the Mic

I stepped onto the braided rug in the front entryway, letting the heavy front door latch securely behind me after the long walk back from the park. Resting atop the dark wooden console table under the warm hall lamp was an empty, heavy ceramic mug. Stepping up to the table, I carefully guided the base of my trusty microphone down into the mug until it stood straight and upright, just like a conductor's baton waiting in its stand. Giving the cord a gentle tuck behind the handle, I listened to the quiet settling over the house. My joints clicked softly as I stood down for the night, perfectly content with a full day well spent.