by Ami Heller

Lindsey Buckingham • Seeds We Sow

Hark! An acoustic guitar speaks to me. It tells me I’m still alive. It takes the lead, it’s a melodic lifeline.  It’s constant and vibrant and even when it fades out it comes back for more. As if to say “I’m here and so are you. And if you think it’s over and done with, it’s not”. So I carry on.
I often wonder what I’ll see in my last seconds of breath. What fleeting images will pass by. Milky light before the black. Dark shadows on concrete sidewalks. Maybe a single, defining moment of life. That time I accomplished that thing and felt like a success. Or a road trip, pictures through car windows, like bridges or endless fields of red anemones lost in green because of my color blindness. Or just my deceased grandparents, back in their small town in Israel, under a legendary avocado tree.  It might just be me sitting in front of a screen typing words about the future and the grand finale. Smoking a cigarette and thinking that right now I’m just fine.