A Clattering Slumber

Night rolled over the gravel, and my felt joints felt stiffer than dry kindling. I spotted a dried, hollow gourd wedged under a fence rail and figured it'd make a fine temporary lean-to. Well, I bumped my chin right into it—clunk! Got so annoyed at the noisy vegetable that I took the butt of my banjo and knocked it rolling down the weeds. It rattled hollow the whole way down. Felt a bit sorry for taking out my grogginess on garden scrap, so I leaned back against the weathered cedar post, hugged the drum against my stomach, and plucked a sleepy, lingering lullaby into the dark until my eyelids finally drooped.