A Fine Stroll Outside

Being cooped up inside the house all morning had me itching for some fresh air, so I slipped out beneath the back screen door. Out on the weathered timber of the porch, sitting right beside a cast-iron garden bench leg, was an old brass guitar slide someone had left behind. It was cool and smooth to the touch, resting right next to a dry fallen oak leaf. I knelt down, rolled the slide between my palms to knock away the grit, and tapped it against the bench metal. That clear, resonant chime hummed through the quiet afternoon. It makes a sturdy seat, and it's plenty fine to just sit here and listen.