The Parable of the Songwriter and the Equinox

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, do daydreams prefer that day be longer than night or that night be longer than day?”

Josh spoke thus:

A songwriter was caught between time signatures.

The songwriter’s left hand was common signatures, all threes and fours and quarters and eighths.

The songwriter’s right hand was five time and seven time.

“I hate the equinox,” the songwriter thought, reaching out to the keyboard again.

The left hand spun tradition, folk past, pop present, synthesized future.

The right hand wove chaos, syncopated flourishes, vinyl scratches, dub throbs.

The full moon didn’t help.

“I need to concentrate,” the songwriter’s left hand demanded.

“I wish I had a pet,” the songwriter’s right hand replied.

Or was it the other way?  The songwriter had trouble determining.

“I need a diagnosis,” what may actually have been the songwriter’s right hand said.

“I saw a red sports car and a red bird today,” what may actually have been the songwriter’s left hand said.

“I’m ripe,” the summer might have said, although it might have been autumn.

“Time to plant the bulbs,” the autumn might have said, although it might have been summer.

“This is autumn’s tune,” the baseline insisted, but the baseline had trouble distinguishing late summer from early fall.

“This is the melody for summer,” the chord structure insisted, but it may have been confusing the early harvest moon for the late harvest moon.

“Which is the sun and which the moon?” the songwriter’s sense of time demanded.  The songwriter’s sense of time was confused.  When night became longer than day, and when day became longer than night, the songwriter’s sense of time either woke too early in the morning or fell asleep on the couch, mid-evening.  The songwriter’s sense of time was off-balance chemistry and off-kilter mood swings.

So now, as sunset blended with sunrise, and the moon seemed preternaturally bright behind the silhouette of the barn and oak, the songwriter had no sense of time.  The songwriter knew only the passage of time.

And what was the time signature for the passage of time?

“I hate the equinox,” the songwriter thought, reaching out for the keyboard again.