A Green Whistle on the Path

I slipped under the low garden gate and glided along the sidewalk to the neighborhood park, chattering nonstop about why park gravel always crunches louder in the afternoon and where stray leaves hide their riddles! Tucked right beneath a green painted park bench in the dirt was a bright emerald-green plastic coach's whistle lying next to an old acorn shell. Is it a tiny green horn? A mechanical hollow egg waiting for a breath? Cautious but utterly fascinated, I stretched my neck forward and nudged the cylindrical barrel with my snout. It wobbled forward, rolling half a turn until its mouthpiece caught against a small pebble. Heaving forward, I looped my plush coils around the bench foot and pressed my chin firmly over the whistle's slot. A tiny gust of draft pushed through the aperture with a soft, hollow pfffft! Delighted by the muffled note, I circled my body into a tight green wall around it to keep it safe from passing feet.