Summer Means Bluegrass

The lovely weather this last few weeks has brought our neighbors outside. The people who live across the street and a couple of houses down from us are part of a bluegrass group. Sometimes when I walk to the store, I see the banjo player stretched out on the porch. Just him. Strumming. Sometimes humming. I don't usually hear him singing; I don't know that I've heard anyone from the group sing.

But it's a beautiful thing to open my window and hear twangy (but not too twangy) strings drift into my living room. It's a wonderful accompaniment for whatever I'm reading. So far, I've discovered it complements all of the following: Markus Zusak's The Book Thief, Hugh Nibley's Approaching Zion, Bill Bryson's The Mother Tongue, and Cornelia Funke's Inkheart.

I also have a sneaking suspicion it will bring an added level of enjoyment to poetry reading as well, but I haven't tested that particular theory yet...