Harmony

It's rare that I have an entirely clear day with no obligations or plans. Or maybe it just feels that way after a busy day trying to work through people's problems and difficulties, and make sense of them, for myself and the client. Whatever the reality, today has been an unusually calm and restful one. It's very still outside, damp and mild, and the clear view of earlier has been gradually dimmed by an encroaching mist across the fields. Dusk is not far off. It feels exactly what it is, the beginning of winter and not far off the shortest day. I'm hibernating in my cosy house, hunkering down, winding down for the long haul until shoots start to appear again in the garden and the birds begin their nest-building. All day I've been hyper-aware of how natural it feels to be experiencing this, in a cottage on the edge of a small Suffolk village. It must have been thus for generations, and now I'm part of the cycle. I'm playing Byrd's Mass for Three Voices, recorded at Christchurch, Oxford, and it's so appropriate for this time of year, the pure a capella singing music that feels timeless, ageless. It's winter music, though heaven knows it's equally glorious at any time of year, the roundels rolling on and on, over and over in a near seamless flow. Everything is in tune, the music, the darkening evening, the stillness and sense of an ending, the serenity I'm feeling. I can't think of anyone I'd change places with today.