I absolutely love the music of William Byrd for reasons I can’t put into words. I’ve seen his music terrify people I have tried to play it to. Whilst I find it full of beauty, I have known people describe it as ‘angsty’. I was struck by this, being played on the radio this morning. I don’t think it’s ‘angsty’. It’s a piece ‘reimagined’. ‘Reimagined’ pieces usually have me running for the hills (or the off switch, whichever is closer). They – by which I mean scientists now – say that wine bought on holiday can never taste as good again when you take it home, because your sense of taste is too influenced by your holiday feelings, mood, and happiness; the poor old wine doesn’t stand a chance when your back in your miserable work routine again. I say this because something – just something – about the day today made this piece of music really beautiful. The way the rain falls? The fullness of the verges? The oaks trees in their might? How a young hawthorn hedge reacts to the wind? Having young pied wagtails on the lawn? Having house martins on the house again? Something. Here it is:

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