A Little Wooden Strum

Scrambling onto the warm cedar bench, my eyes locked onto a wide-toothed wooden comb resting flat in the afternoon sun. I paused with an open gasp, tilting my head at the tidy row of smooth, polished prongs. Taking two cautious steps closer, I reached out and dragged my plush thumb across the very first tooth. It bent slightly, then sprang back with a bright wooden plink! Delighted by the snappy note, I drew my hands across the entire row, turning the stiff teeth into a rapid, fluttering chime. Swaying on my knees, I strummed back and forth, filling the quiet porch with my own little wooden song.