It begins with a fingerpicked passage. The notes ring like little bells across the vaulted ceiling, stained cedar like the face of the guitar. The song ricochets back along their heads to me, September sunlight through stained glass dappling the congregation a dozen colors of day, a dozen moods.
I love playing churches; Mendelssohn’s chords, F Major 7 Over C, B Augmented falling into B Major reverberating back in pieces, combinations of notes I could never hit with just two hands. Blending, they come back different. Everything comes back different.
Into the first chorus, the song spreads out.