When I'm walking around in April
, observing nature, it's easy for me to notice that sometimes it's sunny and cold as balls, and that sometimes for some reason the sprinklers are out and running at below freezing temperatures, and sometimes there's a blizzard...
Then, sometimes, there are flowers, and sometimes there is warmth, and robins and blackbirds.
I live in that hemisphere where spring is beginning, and some of the time, it's a bit of a struggle, like lighting a campfire when it's raining, or climbing up the slippery back of a giant rock monster when it's raining, or trying to conceal my manly pecks under my white t-shirt when it's raining, or keeping a giant totorro from getting wet with a tiny umbrella when it's FREAKING. RAINING.
Or like getting your cat to stop treating you like a personal butler.
What I'm trying to say is that sometimes, April is a little bit awkward.
I don't live in Japan but based on this song I would imagine their weather in April is pretty similar, because what I experience in April is a bit like how this song feels to listen to.
At least at first.
This song helped me a lot to understand something about myself and people.
It's sort of a mixed metaphor to me but maybe it's well expressed as such.
As winter gives way to spring, so can noise give way to music.
As summer gives way to fall, so can music give way to noise.
A triumph of spring doesn't mean the end of winter.
A triumph of winter doesn't mean spring isn't coming.
A triumph of noise doesn't mean there won't be any more music.
A triumph of music doesn't mean there won't be any more noise sometimes.
Sometimes the noise adds a complexity to the music that makes the music more interesting.
Sometimes it breaks up the music, creating discord, for you to really enjoy the music when it returns.
And the music never gives up.
You shouldn't either.
Never on the world, never on people, and never on yourself.
Simply being aware of the noise you might be feeling inside you right now can be a form of hope for you. It's hope that you can do better and it's hope that your song may yet be heard, even if you have to fight against the noise.
It might all have gone over my head if this song wasn't called April, and if I hadn't listened to it in April, and if I hadn't been pelted by snowflakes the size of Steven Wilson's nose in April, and if spring ever actually gave up.
Your life is the song you compose.