Long Twilight

A family member is in hospital. so my heart is heavy. The last thing that those around me need is to have to worry about my own heart, so I am trying to keep it tucked up out of the way. A heavy heart is always a cumbersome thing and mine, which usually hangs precariously from my sleeve, is more difficult than most to manage.

I had a few moments alone in my car overlooking the lingering twilight of late winter sun. The beguilingly silvered tones contrasted with the dark hills beneath. I watched the clouds play hide and seek with the sun as I filled the inside of my car with music. At first static and then it cleared to the large orchestral sound full of strings that spoke to me of movie music. I have always loved movies. I love the bigness of the story played out in front of me. And music is so much part of that bigness that magical suspension of disbelief that allows us to believe in flying bicycles and magical kingdoms over the rainbow and the ultimate triumph of good over adversity.

The music sounded to me like the music that would accompany a hero experiencing hard times but confident nonetheless of something good to come. It might have been followed by a scene like Gene Kelly dancing in the rain or waking up in Oz. "Movie music" is not a derogatory description in my aesthetic. When I discovered that the rich, sweet, slightly melancholy but ultimately positive music was Delius sharing his delight at having heard the first cuckoo of spring it only added to my pleasure in the moment.

We will certainly have more cold days before we can believe in spring as well as many more early twilights but in my brief introspection with Delius I could conjure spring and a cuckoo's song in my my mind's eye and put my heart at ease for a moment.

(The silvery sunset above was photographed by my husband on Orkney at midnight on the longest day. Although it is another season, the silvery colours are the right tones.)