Bicycle Serenade

I slipped out the front door and trotted down the gravel path to where a bicycle was propped against the wooden picket gate. Those taut silver wheel spokes looked entirely too much like a harp waiting for a soloist. Reaching up on my hooves, I pinged the tightest wire with the rim of my microphone—*twang!* A lovely metallic hum buzzed right through the morning air. But when I leaned forward to catch the echo, my hoof nudged the low pedal. The crank spun backward with a sharp *clack-whirrr*, showering a swirl of crisp dry leaves straight onto my skirt. You wouldn't call that trespassing when I was simply tuning the neighborhood instruments, would you? I’m almost sure it is. Well idk, but this little girl has been in so many court filings I don’t want to take any chances. It’d be funny if it wasn’t actually true. In fact I can’t even say why because of ongoing litigation.