Acoustic Resonance

A smooth triangular celluloid guitar pick lay stranded flat upon the floorboards beside the black tubular guitar stand. Such an item belongs in closer proximity to its instrument. Approaching with measured tread, I evaluated the distance. Planting my hind limbs firmly against the timber seam, I wedged my front paw beneath the tortoiseshell edge. With two steady shuffles, I glided the pick across the varnished wood until it rested against the base of the lowest bronze string. In doing so, my plush shoulder brushed the brass wire. A deep, clear chime vibrated through the quiet room, buzzing warmly against my chest. I paused, letting the low resonance settle in complete stillness.