So, yes. The two of us, long-time collaborators, we sheltered in the late summer afternoon under a magnificent canopy of trees. They are my new best friends (see previous post). I mean these trees have been around for a long time, I finally checked in with them. I have been observing & communing with them. They are breath-taking, and breath-providing, beings. They provide much-appreciated shade, and, well, of course, much needed oxygen. And they absorb carbon-dioxide, which we humans have been spewing into the atmosphere for much too long. We really shouldn't take trees for granted. We should thank them, honor them, and bow down to them in humility. As my friend always reminds me: "The trees don't need us, but we need the trees."
Our new "pandemic ritual" has been to imbibe a freshly-brewed, on-tap, kombucha from our local micro-brewery. So zingy, zesty and invigorating. Takes a bit of the edge off too. There we were, under the trees, sipping our special brew, working on a new song. Actually, my new thing, we weren't "working" we were just playing. The songs "come when the come." They truly are gifts. And we were being gentle with the new chords, the new lyrics, letting them flow together. Just trying out different sequences, different accents and cadences. It's a gentle alchemy.
I was playing a borrowed guitar, an old Martin, made in 1972. A pretty amazing instrument. Old Spruce with a Mahogany neck. Martin is the American-made, acoustic guitar of choice. You have heard all the great players, play a Martin. The older, the guitar, the better. Their guitars mellow and deepen as the years roll out. The wood opens up with age. This one was a vintage, D-18. One of the finest in their line of fine guitars. Strum a chord and it rings out forever. It was an honor just to hold it in my hands.
So we played, and played, under the shade of the trees. Something so pure about an acoustic guitar, and a voice. Playing for the trees. Brand-new lyrics. An old Spruce guitar giving voice to the chords, sending out vibrations into the air, floating on the breeze. Will this song ever be played for an audience, will it ever be recorded? Who knows? There was just the purity and beauty of the moment. Can't hold onto it. Let it ride. A little dance of creativity in the late afternoon. Pandemic Summer 2020.
