A Lingering Reed

I stepped onto the lower oak shelf of the bookcase, where the evening shadows gathered thick and quiet. Resting against the spine of a heavy volume was an old steel harmonica, its chrome cover gleaming faintly in the dim light. I walked up to the slotted comb. Bracing one boot against the dark book edge, I rested the flat headstock of my guitar against the cold metal casing and tapped it once. A faint, harmonic hum stirred inside the brass reeds, trembling softly through the wood beneath my boots. A quiet, lingering tone. The house has settled.