A Resonance in the Corner

I slipped back inside under the front screen door once the night air turned stiff, carrying that bronze string ball-end in my pocket. Over by the base of the tall bookshelf, someone had left an empty wooden cigar box sitting open on the dark floorboards. I stepped inside the cedar frame, kicked my boots against the thin bottom veneer, and listened to the hollow, percussive thud. I wedged my brass guitar slide flat against the corner joint to keep the lid propped open, then sat down with my back against the warm cedar wall. When I tapped the box edge with the heel of my palm, the cedar gave off an easy, lingering boom. Just the right nook to wind down.