Ben Crawley addresses the world with fluency, tracing gentle gradients, sweeping effortlessly across silky fields of sound. His voice rides a gentle wave above our heads, yet is within the reach of the storyteller who wanders the forest.

Libera's chorus looms above and around and away, as many voices from the distant, silvery shadows of the woodland, while the accompaniment, quiet and rounded, is a cushion on which the words are moulded into song. Ben finishes each stanza with a single line, mimicked by a clarinet of inestimable beauty that is performed with professional perfection by Libera soloist Steven Geraghty.

In the second verse there are two voices, one a reflection of the other, met in the still water of the pool. While the storyteller discovers the blessing of twilight's hand on the forest, so does Ben explore with his voice, expressing a more compelling quality.

Both the final scent of the chorus and Ben's musical reminiscences are tinted with melancholy that is reflected in the words, as though ages have fallen all around, but unlike is said in this poem, the words and music shall never be lost.

Copyright © 2004 Merewyn Bramble, Benj Schatzmann, Stewart Simpson