The Wooden Drum

The wooden drum rolled down the hill, enjoying the feeling of the wind against its fibers.

Branches brushed past, striking the drum,

Creating a melody that resonated with the heartbeat below.

Reaching the cliff's edge, the drum paused --

Was the feeling of liftoff worth the plummet to destruction?

Resigning itself to the monotony of safety, the barrel froze in place, surveying the sea of lights below.

Fibers began to snap and bend as the crate inched its way down the slippery slope. Heavy paws sniffed at the earthen vessel, which offered up its murky melody as a sacrifice. The woodchip now rested at the hill's base, yielding to trampling feet,

Joining the heartbeat once more.

No longer its own tenor, but a mere wisp of a bass that had lost its timber.