Concert Down the Block
Night sounds on a typical summer's eve rock with a local garage band.
Concert Down the Block
A normal evening in the garden swing. Crickets sing counterpoint to cicada solo with frogs in pastures down below. The little bat zips by on its customary path. The nine-o-clock passes in its flight toward Reno. All proceeds as usual every night since spring.
Suddenly, a guitar tunes up in a garage nearby. Drums join in with a thump-da-da-tut. A deep voice growls an old blues drawl followed by a bass riff and harmonica’s call. R&B eclectic and god-knows-what simmers as the heat of day wanes to desert cool. Melodies waver with the atmospheric shift like an old radio wave whose reception drifts.
Then a truck grinds it gears with a sharp metal bite, pulling me back to crickets and cicadas with their melancholy plight. The final glow of sunlight fades along the gloaming west as Venus sinks closer to the rim. We watch the weekend commuter planes crisscross the starry sky, wondering where they came from, where they’re going to, and why.
The band a block away takes a break and silence quells the din. The hours slip away as they usually do this time of day. We rise and shuffle back inside, satisfied that tomorrow, we do it all again.
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"Melodies waver with the atmospheric shift like an old radio wave whose reception drifts."
Lines like this are why everyone should read Sue Cauhape.
Such a fine scene you have set your readers down into. I felt I was there sitting out on the porch with you. I would have liked the distant band in the night, and the airplanes passing overhead. A combo of man and nature. Lovely, Sue. A perfect example of how there is a story everywhere!