Why I love my Gibson Hummingbird


Just picking it up and resting it on my knee gives me a buzz.

I don’t even need to play anything. Just by running my pick down the strings, I can feel the essence of so many songs I grew up and fell in love with. The vibrations drive deep into my chest and I can feel my heart growing stronger as a song starts to form, like a flock of birds heading for the trees as thunder echoes through the mountains. Like a violin and cello had a threesome with a drum. Like the Tree of Life offered its lungs to the God of Wisdom, and he wisely set them upon the wings of his giant Hummingbird, and he released that bird to the eternal freedom of music that comes from the very soul of anyone who ever loved a song.

Please wait your turn, Mr Jagger. The music is still playing.

Should our Gibsons one day bequeath to those with smaller, softer hands, all they shall need is a pick and a heart to feel the echoes of our thunder, and to hear the songs of our birds. Hail to the Tree of Life. Hail to the good vibrations. Hail to the Hummingbird.

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