A Muse on the Theme of Late.

I was reading an old post earlier, written seven years ago at the end of April, in which I referred to the arrival of the swallows and referenced one of Frederic Delius’s loveliest pieces called Late Swallows. The title refers to the end of summer when the last of the birds are gathering to leave our shores and head south again, but this year they appear to be late in a different sense: I haven’t seen any yet.

I’ve said often enough that of all the truly wild birds – as opposed to those which share our human spaces in gardens and manicured parks – the swallow is my favourite. Their grace, speed and power, allied to their habit of sometimes flying disturbingly close in their relentless hunt for food, makes them impossible to miss or ignore. Hence they are the most potent icon of summer and greatly valued as such (at least by me.)

I’ve also mentioned that Delius is one of my favourite composers, and I’m often struck by the fact that appreciation of his music is an unusually singular attribute. You either get Delius or you don’t; there appears to be no middle way. If you do, the way in which the music evokes a deep and subtle sense of life and the natural world is quite extraordinary and profoundly moving. The three words which spring most readily to mind in describing it are rich, wistful and melancholy.

And Delius himself was an interesting character whose later life was characterised by much suffering. I sometimes wonder how he managed to carry on through it all, but it seems he did because when he was blind and unable to write his music down, he employed an amanuensis to do the job for him. Maybe the fact embodies the ultimate cause for optimism: whatever the suffering, we can live in the certain knowledge that one day it will end.

It’s been an awful week so far, replete with frustration, disturbance, loss, and health anxiety, and it’s still only Wednesday. I imagine it’s all to do with lateness.