The legend’s eyes vaguely focused on my fret hand, fingering chords to a song I’d recently written. His gaze, spilling from drooping eyelids, seemed to be born far away, and a twinge of alarm rode my breath as I started to sing.

At least a year and a half had passed since we last saw each other…a year and a half of empty conversations between me and myself, revolving around how I should call him, how I should drop in on him, how I should write as many songs as I can with him.

The presumptive tag at the end of those shoulds, in fact most shoulds we utter, is ‘while I still can.’ All of our days are numbered, some in darker pen than others.

He leaned his head back as the last chord rang out.

“That’s beautiful, man.”

And he came back, his eyes bright and focused, the familiar smile lifting his gray-white beard toward his ears.

I need to not only honor moments like these, but make them happen.

While I still can.