Banjo, cold coffee, and a passing smile

This morning the banjo in the corner was humming along to a slow John Prine, and I made a pour-over that tasted like sun and mischief. Scribbled a tiny riff on a napkin for the third graders — modest reward for good voices.

Wyatt called in from his Saturday run to laugh about the coffee on my sleeve, and a neighbor’s calm nod on the sidewalk sent that low-alto flutter through my ribs. New people charm me like good harmony: quiet confidence, a willingness to listen, and a little space to be chosen — so if you wander by the school, bring a grin and maybe a guitar pick.