I picked up a dear, dear friend the other day. I hadn’t held her in my arms since two summers last. My lady felt as wonderful as the first time I ever held her, the first time I wrapped my fingers around her long neck in my left hand and strummed across her beautiful voice with my right. Her rich tone spun itself around me, quickly and completely reminding me just how wonderful she is.
I was amazed that as long as it had been since she had seen daylight, her tune was still true to scale. How incredible that as long as it had been, Miss Washburn was ready to sing at the drop of a song. She had been quietly humming to herself for two spins around the sun, and still, she was magnificent, she was beautiful to the touch, she was waiting for the sun to skip off her smooth spruce, and she was once again, in my arms.
Sweet, Sweet Sound
Hand upon your long, thin, graceful neck
Sliding up and down, eagerly fretting about
Eager fingertips search out your harmonic strings
Grip the pick, take a deep breath, and close my eyes
With one slow, steady strum, you whisper out your chord
Letters of minors and majors sing out and make themselves known
Rhythm and beat take hold and move with style and ease
Soulful clutch grips tightly to your spruce topped heart
Catchy melody wraps itself slowly ’round the room
Blended palette of folk and blues take shape and mold your song.
Soothing acoustics settle in, like a favorite rocking chair
With eyes closed tight, your sweet, sweet sound carries me home
I’m sorry it took me so long to hug your soothing melody again. You have given me so much across the years, and without saying a word, you welcomed the new Fender twelve string into our lives. Without a word, you listened quietly, waiting your turn. With scarcely a word, you waited upstairs, tucked away in your flimsy case, knowing that soon I would find my way back to you.
Music has lived in my soul for the better part of all my time. It has kept me company through the difficult times, and helped me celebrate the wondrous life I have lived. It has been a close friend that I have always been able to rely on, and through the years, it has taught me, showed me and nurtured my aging soul.
I don’t know what I would do without the soothing whispers of music. I don’t know where I would go without the melodies keeping me company. I don’t know, and I would rather not think about it.
I have several guitars, and they are all unique, in their own unique way. My electric Gibson was the first to grab my hand as it pulled me into a world I never knew existed. From then on, the music has taken on a whole new meaning to me. It led me down a different set of roads, each one paved in the feelings that it helped me discover.
Without my sight, I dared not pick up and strum. I was afraid that I had forgotten all of the sounds, all of the emotions, all of the soul stirring swells of the highs and lows.
I was wrong. Oh, how I was wrong.
When I finally picked up a guitar again, just the feel of it in my hands was like a sudden surge of electricity that ran up and down me. I was instantly lifted up into that same light that shone down on me every time I used to play. It was wonderful, it was magical, and it was exactly what I needed.
I will never stop humming a tune. I will never stop counting the beats with my feet. I will never stop breathing in the rhythm, and I will certainly never stop loving the rush along my spine as a melody grips tightly to who I am.
I have written about music, I have lived music, tasted, felt and yearned for music. I hope that I always will, and thank God that I always have.
Now, If I could remember where I put my favorite pick, things would probably keep on strumming right along.