“Comes a Time” was in my tape player as I pulled away from my apartment in Madison, Wisconsin, and headed for my new home in Shepherdstown, West Virginia. Our relationship was ending, and Neil Young knew just what to say: “There comes a time.” I listened to it one long day in Alaska, as my college boyfriend slept in the passenger seat and I drove from Fairbanks to Anchorage. I listened to it at my friend Genia’s apartment, as she showed me how she was trying to teach herself to play Neil Young songs on her guitar. It was on one of the cassette tapes my boyfriend kept in his silver Fiat 128. In fact, it is the song above all others that has become part of the soundtrack to my life. For many of us, songs play this role, becoming part of the narrative of our lives. There is no main character, no narrator, no plot, no action.īut sometimes a work of art lives with us in such a way that it takes on the role of story. Neil Young’s song “Comes a Time” doesn’t tell a story – not by a long shot. StoryWeb celebrates stories of all kinds: novels and short stories and films and memoirs, of course, but also poems and songs and visual art that tell stories.
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