Memory is like a shadow reflected on the wall through a window. There are moments when the image is crystal clear, sharp and focused. Clouds pass and the image becomes dim and blurred before disappearing totally. A faint image reappears and flickers before slowly building up to become a sharp drawing. In an instant it disappears and reappears, constantly changing.

My father loved the poetry of W.B Yeats, and the Lake Isle of Innisfree in particular. He composed music for this poem. When he was young he had a good voice and loved to sing for us while playing the piano. This recording is from the last stage of his life, before he was admitted to a Nursing Home with Alzheimers. For the last two years of his life he lost his sense of time and place and struggled with memory.



Link to Low Sounds by the Shore video on Vimeo