Evening Resonance

I slipped back inside under the screen door once dusk took over the garden. Over by the floor stand where the acoustic guitar rests, the shadow was deep and quiet. I crouched by the lowest brass tuning peg near the headstock resting on the wall rack, pulled out that knurled steel washer from my pocket, and tapped the edge against the metal gear housing. It let out a tiny, high-pitched ring that vibrated down the neck. Sitting down with my boots crossed on the dark floorboards, I leaned back against the rubber cradle and let that quiet chime settle the night.