The Sound of my Soul.

A few years ago, I walked into a guitar shop, and my eyes fell upon an old Gibson 335. It was born just a few years after me, it had seen some miles that guitar; its tobacco burst colour had faded, it had a few dings. That guitar had songs in it.

I picked it up, plugged it in and it sounded like it looked. Imagine the sound of liquid gold. The neck was like butter. This guitar was made for me.

The price was another matter. I could buy a decent car for the same price. But no car would match this. I started doing my arithmetic and my conscience told me all the reasons I shouldn’t buy it.

I decided to sleep on it. Next morning I raced back to the store, and it was gone. Well, maybe it wasn’t to be.

A year later I wandered into the same store and there it was. The person who bought it had run into some financial trouble and needed to sell it. This time I did not hesitate.

The guitar has pride of place in my way too large collection. It makes me a better player.

There are things we need to get through life. Beyond my family, I couldn’t make it without music. My wife sometimes shakes her head and asks why I have so many guitars.

It is simple, I am still searching for the sound of my soul.