Strings. Since before I can remember, I’ve loved the sound. Violins, cellos, bass, banjos, mandolins, ukuleles, especially guitars.

I love the way they look: the way the light reflects almost hot from the varnish, the way the waist of the body is shaped like a woman, the way the neck extends sleek and trim, the tuning pegs just begging for a small twist. Sitting in a stand, laying in an open case, tossed casually on a bed, guitars look fast while staying still. I love the way they smell; a mixture of wood and metal, sometimes paint.

I love the way they feel, cradled while sitting or the weight from the strap, the stiffness of the strings, the the slick back of the neck. Mostly, I love the way guitars sound. And that’’s just the acoustic ones.

With the electric guitars, my adoration is goes to an exponential plateau. The variety in shapes, the variety in tones, the raw, deafening volume when it’’s jacked into an amplifier a few feet away, pushing physically against me.

It can be sweet from adding a chorus effect or over-driven with squealing feedback. Instant gratification. And still that look, that smell, that feel. Mostly, all that sound.

Yeah, man, I love guitars.

Who can’t fall for that and want some more?

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