Apricots in February

An ordinary visit. A familiar kitchen table. A question that keeps coming back: are the apricots ready yet?

It's February. The answer should be simple. But some questions are no longer really about the answers.

Built around dusty boom bap drums, a haunting sampled viola, sparse oboe, and an intimate, conversational delivery, Apricots in February explores the fragile space between memory and presence.

Names get confused. Familiar gestures outlast familiar faces. A train is waiting, and the minutes keep passing. Beneath these small, everyday moments lies the uneasy realization that not everything can be corrected, recovered, or held onto.

As the song unfolds, something quietly shifts. The need to be remembered gives way to something less certain, but perhaps more important: the simple act of being there.

Apricots in February is a song about what remains when memories begin to fade, and how sometimes, the most meaningful thing we can offer someone is our time.

Lyrics :

You ask me if the apricots are ready.
February. Snow against the fence.
I say the tree will need a little longer.
You nod and ask me how my journey went.
Your thumb keeps circling a dent beside your plate.
That thumb could fix my collar in one movement.
I'd pull away before you got it straight.
Now I sit still. You don't reach out to do it.
You call me by your younger brother's name.
I answer. Neither one of us corrects it.
You ask if I've been eating well enough.
Then push the larger half of breakfast toward me.

We can wait for the apricots.
I've got nowhere else to be.

That isn't true. I've got a train at seven.
A bag beside the door I haven't unpacked.
But every time you ask when I'll be leaving,
I find another reason to sit back.
My sister says you recognised the neighbour.
Laughed about the way he parks his car.
I nearly ask if you remembered my name.
Then ask if you'd been walking very far.
I used to count the hours that a visit cost.
Two there, two back, the weekend nearly finished.
You spent whole Saturdays beside a football pitch.
I wasn't even good. You never mentioned it.

We can wait for the apricots.
I've got nowhere else to be.

I try the song you always sang too early.
You come in half a sentence ahead.
I laugh before I think about the reason.
You grin because you know you've made me laugh.
For once, I don't go searching for a meaning.
I let the next line happen when it happens.
By five, the garden's almost disappeared.
You ask me if my father knows I'm visiting.
I say he does. You seem relieved to hear it.
Then tell me I should call before it gets late.
I move my bag away from where you see it.
You ask about the tree again.
I used to answer February.
Now I answer you.
We can wait for the apricots.
I've got nowhere else to be.