Beyond the Notes | 06. A Self-Confessed Night Owl

From the tiniest light, a feint glow on a far-off horizon, dawn brings a new day, with new hope, and new possibilities, the sun's rising, an inextricable link to the changing seasons around us.

In this series, I share some of the pieces of music which have meant the most to me in my life, and the stories behind why they resonate so strongly within a life lived slowly and simply.

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I can’t dress this fact up any other way: I’m a self-confessed night owl. It took me a long time to accept and embrace this. I think that those of us who inhabit night owl status are sometimes seen as rather lazy, that somehow, if you get up later and go to bed later, you are less productive. It’s easy to see why this myth prevails when we are continually encouraged to get up earlier in order to ‘get more done’. ‘The early bird catches the worm’ is a proverb drilled into us from a young age.

Ultimately, I don’t think I want to be an early bird or a night owl. I’d like to be someone who lives a life which follows the changing seasons, the rising and setting of the sun. In many respects, nature has it all planned out for us. In summer, with its longer daylight hours we have more energy, and in winter, where daylight is withheld, energy levels are low. Oh to have a life where we embrace the intuition of the body in conjunction with the changing seasons. Maybe one day.

The dawn colours dance their way into a new day, with new hope, and new opportunities.

Sunrise and dawn must be for early birds what dusk and sunset are for night owls. At one end, night fades into day, and at the other, day into night. Whilst I might not be ‘up with the lark’, I’ve learnt to appreciate dawn in other ways. As the seasons change and the wheel of the year rotates, the sun rises earlier, a sign that spring is giving way to summer. The dawn chorus wakes us in the early hours, a sure sign that spring and summer are at hand. We hear the distant hum of traffic, the Caledonian Sleeper train hurtling past, ready to deliver it’s passengers from Scotland to London in time for breakfast. Whenever the sun rises, a new dawn is emerging.

Benjamin Britten’s 1945 opera, Peter Grimes, tells a dark story of accusation, vigilante mobs, and paranoia. Perhaps these ghostly tales bear a quivering resemblance to some of the events of recent weeks. Act 1 opens with what later became ‘Dawn’, the first of Britten’s Four Sea Interludes.

Perhaps Britten captures so perfectly in music, what Turner captured so evocatively in his paintings, the seeming calmness of the sea masking its potential for great ferocity. Maggi Hambling’s 4-metre-high Scallop sculpture on Aldeburgh beach is a tribute to Britten, its expanse open to the east and the rising sun of each new day. Yet it inhabits a coastline which feels the full force of the North Sea, as it ravages the cliffs and beaches.

Photo by Ruth Gledhill on Unsplash

Whether we are an early bird or a night owl, the rising and setting of the sun offers us an inextricable link to the changing seasons. At a time when many of us seek to live slowly and simply, in tune with the seasons, the sun’s daily display of warmth provides us with a beautiful way to connect with the world around us. From the tiniest light, a feint glow on a far-off horizon, dawn brings a new day, with new hope, and new possibilities.

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