I am pleased to sleep again on my old familiar rosy pillows but there's no doubt that the period in the immediate aftermath of a holiday is a time when one questions some of the things that have drifted along without question before it.
Some of them settle back to drifting again and others remain wakeful and insistent and that's the interesting part. It's not always clear to begin with, what will settle and what won't.
Only time will tell. I found a slip of paper in a book the other day on which I'd copied out the following little poem. No idea where I found it or who wrote it but it's resonated this week.
"If you find a dream inside your heart
don't ever let it go
for dreams are the tiny seeds
from which beautiful tomorrows grow."
Every year they grow happily out of the crack at the base of the old, white, lime-washed wall beside the path. No one has planted them there - they grow all by themselves, self-seeded and self-supporting. They reach a good five, even six feet in height seemingly without need of soil or water. Their tall, sturdy stems produce an abundance of pale green, downy leaves and their satiny, papery flowers are just beautiful. The spreading petals have the colours and texture of old watered silk - pale rose-pink, magenta, and a slightly deeper, claret red. The powdery yellow stamens are loaded with pollen and surrounded by fine, pale, feathery filaments as soft as a caught breath. English cottage garden flowers at their best.
I have tried planting hollyhocks in the past without success but these seem to grow almost in defiance of deliberate cultivation.
There may be a lesson here about not trying too hard.
May be the dreams will do the same thing if I let them.