Taut Blade

I plucked a broad blade of crabgrass growing tall in the ditch by the gate. Still held some green sap in the stem. I wiped the dust off against my sleeve, flattened the rib between my palms, and drew it tight between the knuckles of both thumbs. Raised my hands, lined up the crease with my mouth, and let out a short, steady breath. The grass caught the draft with a sharp, reed-like squawk that made a grasshopper leap from a chicory stalk. Adjusted my grip, tightened the tension a hair, and tried again. A clearer, piercing note cut straight through the midday heat. A good whistle only needs a stiff stem.