The Year In Music: 30th April

The Night Before May Day, Lisa Knapp (2017)

A wet, sodden chill. It is Spring in London today, the world tells me, but not here. The hills are rising occasionally out of the mists in the day times, forlorn creatures still battling belts of clouds. At night, the fires are still being lit. The humans’ cardigans are on. I tune into the pivoting point of the year, try to listen out for the singing.

A stretch of final deadlines and family birthdays these last few weeks means I have had little time for myself to write, to reflect, to carve out a corner for my songs. But on Sunday, a happy birthday melody: our son turned ten. I have written much about what happened ten years ago, and found it tough thinking about it now: his little head pulled out of a wound in my stomach with a pair of forceps, so tightly was he stuck, so shocked was he thereafter. How solid he is now, running around the garden with his friends, watching football, being funny, being my world. How silver is the line that still lies low on my abdomen, a forgotten river, a story fading with a stark sadness into the skin.