What if we could hear the passing of time?  How could we audibly experience the ticking intervals?

Would seconds be virtually imperceptible?  Would the sound be similar to the ever so slight rustling of drapes by a gentle breeze?  Would seconds passing make a similar noise to that of a coupling of string instruments being tuned in a noisy, boisterous, auditorium full of chatter, and raucous conversation, where none of those speaking hear the strings, but those waiting for the start of the orchestra hear the faintest of notes, and shout to their fellow attendee, “Are they starting?” inadvertently adding to the cacophony, causing them to no longer hear the subtle bowing of strings.

Would the sound of minutes be more assertive?  Would they stand out like the shrill, lofty, notes of a flute?  Would the sound of a passing minute resemble the rapid trilling of treble-light sound of beating hummingbird wings, fluttering quickly to our ears, then departing and floating above the next nectar source.

Would the sounds of hours be that of small brass instruments?  What if the passing of an accumulation of minutes was punctuated by sultry, rich, deep, drawn-out notes of a trumpet?  Would these hold our attention as their bass-pull tingles our senses and assertive, melancholic notes stir momentary urgency in our souls?

Would the passing of days sound like the plucking of the upright bass?  Might the slower pull of the heavy strings, and the resounding- intensely modulating ripples through the air, and subsequent resonance through your musculature, feel like the experience of time moving from sun up to down?  Do the deliberate, weighty string-slaps produce sounds that make you feel that the day is done, and another awaits on the other side of the maple and plucked nylon?

Would would hear the passing of weeks like you were hearing the sounds of a grand piano?  Might the simultaneous weaving of the rich, baritone notes, masterfully melded with the delicate trebles appropriately encompass the complexity of the seven-day experience?  Would the illusionist-like craftmanship of auditory intricacy appropriately summarize the ups, downs, twists, and flips, and readjustments,  that you have felt in a quarter of a cycle of the moon?

What if, when we experience the movement of one month to another, that sound was that of a drum?  What if we experienced the booming sound of stick upon skin when a collection of days has elapsed?  If going to another sequence of days, made up of hours, consisting of minutes, broken down into seconds, produced the report of wood striking a hollow space created by stretched leather wrapped over wood, would this mean anything?

How would it sound if we could hear the passing of a year?  Would this achievement sound like the clashing of cymbals?  Would this klaxon noise be significant enough to affect us in the midst of our birthday or new years celebrations?  Would we be shaken enough by the disruptive clang to consider the significance of the noise relating to the passing of an accumulation of great spans of time and sound?

Does a decade sound like a gong?  Is it obnoxiously loud?  Is it abrupt and disruptive? Does the sound reverberate in everyone’s ears once struck?  Does it overpower and practically mute any other sound when the gong is banged?

What if we heard all of these passings of time in the opposite order?  How differently would we experience everyday life if each second we heard the sound of a gong?

Humbly yours,

J