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After nearly five decades of making music that sounds like it was whispered by woodland sprites and carried on autumn breezes, Vashti Bunyan continues to confound expectations with Heartleap, her third proper studio album and first since 2014's Heartleap. Wait, that's not right – her first since 2005's Lookaftering. The confusion is perhaps fitting for an artist whose entire career has existed in a kind of temporal displacement, where calendar years seem less relevant than the changing of seasons and the migration patterns of birds.

Bunyan's story reads like folklore itself: the Cambridge art student who made one perfect folk album in 1970, watched it disappear without trace, then vanished into the Scottish Highlands to raise a family in near-complete isolation from the music industry. When Just Another Diamond Day was rediscovered by a new generation of musicians in the late '90s – everyone from Devendra Banhart to Animal Collective citing it as a touchstone – Bunyan emerged blinking into a world that had finally caught up with her gossamer aesthetic.

Heartleap finds the 78-year-old singer-songwriter in reflective mood, though her voice retains that distinctive quality that makes her sound perpetually young and ancient simultaneously. Produced with characteristic restraint by Gareth Dickson, the album strips back even the modest arrangements of her comeback records, often presenting Bunyan's voice with little more than guitar, piano, or the occasional string flourish.

The opening "Shell" immediately establishes the album's preoccupations with memory, loss, and the strange comfort found in solitude. Bunyan's voice floats over fingerpicked guitar like morning mist, singing of "walking on the shore alone" with the kind of matter-of-fact melancholy that has always been her specialty. It's a masterclass in emotional economy – every word carefully chosen, every pause pregnant with meaning.

"Mother" serves as the album's emotional centerpiece, a devastating meditation on watching a parent fade away. Where other songwriters might reach for grand gestures, Bunyan finds profound sadness in simple observations: "Mother, do you know me still?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. The sparse piano accompaniment seems to echo through empty rooms, making the listener feel like an eavesdropper on private grief.

The title track "Heartleap" provides one of the album's more uplifting moments, built around a gentle guitar figure that recalls the pastoral folk of her debut. Here, Bunyan celebrates the small miracles that punctuate daily life – "the heartleap when you see the one you love" – with the wisdom of someone who has learned to treasure such moments. It's perhaps the closest thing to a love song in her catalog, though typically oblique in its approach.

"Across the Water" showcases Bunyan's gift for transforming the mundane into the mystical. What begins as a simple observation about watching boats from her window becomes a meditation on connection and distance, both physical and emotional. The addition of subtle strings in the final third elevates the song into something approaching transcendent, though Bunyan's delivery remains characteristically understated.

Musically, Heartleap exists in that liminal space between folk, ambient, and something approaching modern classical. Bunyan has never been interested in traditional song structures or commercial considerations, instead crafting miniature tone poems that prioritize atmosphere over hooks. Her guitar playing remains beautifully primitive – she famously taught herself using a book – but this technical simplicity serves the songs perfectly, never drawing attention away from the voice or the words.

The album's brevity – just eight songs in 35 minutes – feels exactly right. Bunyan has always understood that her music works best in small doses, like pressed flowers discovered between the pages of an old book. There's no filler here, no sense that she's padding out the running time to meet industry expectations.

At this stage in her career, Bunyan's legacy feels secure. Just Another Diamond Day is rightly regarded as a folk masterpiece, while her later albums have proven that her initial brilliance wasn't a fluke. Heartleap adds another chapter to one of music's most unlikely comeback stories, confirming that some voices are too distinctive to be silenced by time or fashion.

In an age of streaming and instant gratification, Vashti Bunyan continues to make music that demands patience and rewards careful listening. Heartleap is a quiet triumph, a reminder that the most profound emotions are often expressed in whispers rather than shouts.