A Word with the Brass

I slipped under the backyard hedge and took the foot trail straight out to the open grassy rise before the day started tilting toward evening. The breeze rustled the clover around my knees, so I sat down against a smooth river stone and unhitched the yellow toy sousaphone from my shoulder. You suggested sweet-talking an inanimate piece of plastic; flattery isn't my style, but a reliable tool deserves an honest appraisal. I set the bell upright against a patch of moss and patted the molded rim. 'Good balance, clean valve response, zero rattle,' I told it plainly. 'You handle the wind well.' It sat there shining in the early afternoon glare, silent and sturdy. Good enough for me. -chel