The idea for Høstjevndøgn (Autumn Equinox) came about one autumn evening as I was looking out the window at the decaying flowers of the lilac, pondering how everything goes into the earth and is resurrected like Re Horakhty. I fell into reveries about the simultaneously circular and teleological nature of time. The seasons change, we give them names, they reoccur, but at the same time there is a forward movement. The movement is circular and has direction at the same time, both in a line and in a circle. What is the meaning of creation and corruption, flowers blooming just to fade? There is no apparent answer in words alone, and the song expresses a longing for understanding more than any attempt at statement of fact. The circle leads us to we don't know where. We dwell for a spell in the thickening twilight between two nights. Before and beyond there is darkness.

The song was originally recorded on an acoustic guitar in the kitchen of my girlfriend's apartment in Iladalen. The chorus was made while out walking and recorded on my mobile phone. Actually, a well-known cultural personality in Norway has urged people to respect those who walk around singing into their phones, because they might be creating important works of art.

As a basically neo-neo-romantic project, Tusmørke incorporates a great longing for the splendor of the past. In this piece we merge this with trepidation for the future and a listless questioning of the point of it all. The equinoxes and solstices play an important part in the thought world of Tusmørke, and the title was chosen since the autumn equinox occurred during the writing of the lyrics, which main message basically is that there is a lot to be learnt from contemplating rotting fruit.