A lonely trombone player wandered further from home than he had planned, and darkness was approaching. To further complicate his simple existence, he was lost in the middle of the forest. He was uncertain of what to do. Proceed forward into the unknown? Attempt to backtrack home? Being primarily a trombonist, he thought like one. These options were ridiculous. Conveniently, having a trombone on his person, he thought it more appropriate to play a tune. But what? There are so many melodies to chose from.
He made the bold assumption that he could compose a ditty from his environment. It is said that the greatest composers did this very thing, draw from the nature surrounding them. What could possibly prevent, Bifferson Wadsworth Richards III, Biff to his friends, from composing a song, a symphony even? Aside from the lack of artistic soul, creative know how, and plain idiocy, nothing.
He looked around and eyed a squirrel on a limb above him about to leap. The squirrel jumped forward from a sitting pose attempting to reach the branch 75 feet in front of it. It missed and plummeted to the earth, followed by a gentle thud. The creature twitched, squirmed, and twitched again before utter stillness.
The trombonist’s eyes lit up, finding his muse, the put the trombone up to his leathery lips and quickly wrote this song.
At first, he felt a profound sadness, quickly followed by uncontrollable laughter, equally profound. He could not wait for the next tragic event, so he could ride this emotional roller coaster again.