we had a picnic on Sunday by a stream below the church meadow of Gilbert White's Selborne in the shires, we tuned down our ukes to a taropatch tuning and picked some simple graceful songs as the sunday evening church bells chimed we felt like missionaries home from Hawaii with a pot of gold from somewhere over the rainbow. Hawaiin music casts a kind of buddhist calm upon the waters of life and all the frentic pace of the nah nah world finds no foothold and drifts away. If Huck Finn had ever made it to Hawaii he would have felt the same way too . . .
It's always resonated in the soul to me. Don't claim to do it any justice, but I love the way my body and mind slow down to a healthy and centering rhythm when I play.