Among gardens

Dreams about trying to break into a safe in an attic. It was covered in graffiti in Cyrillic lettering, but I ran out of time, and had to pack away my belongings quickly before being discovered. The attic was somehow connected to a library. At one point I looked out of the attic window and saw The French Bloke in the back seat of a coach. All tremendously significant seeming, even when I woke up. Interestingly the French Bloke, who I have not seen or spoken to for several months called me today.

A burst of torrential rain this morning but the day finally brightened up a bit, bright patches and windy. John drove us to two gorgeous houses with gardens. One was Hidcote national trust garden, purring with woodpigeons and thick with lovely scents. The other was called Kiftsgate Court Garden built on a hill, where Sue and John's daughter Harriet works in the house cafe. Wandering in these gardens made me feel happy. One moment standing under a tree at Hidcote, looking at some yellow flowers, goldenrod I think, I had a dreamlike, transcendent moment, a momentary glimpse of eternity. There was a magificent view from Kiftsgate, and the wind was ruffling all the trees. A great beauty fix which Lorraine and I loved.

Autumn is waiting in the wings, but here and there today the last blaze of summer.

Home again after John zoomed home to pick up #2 daughter, Maite, who'd been on holiday in Greece, and a quick drink in a lovely honey coloured town. Me braindead again and boofed to sleep once at home again. Roused to eat lovely roast pork and chat the night away.

Below. Hidcote, the spot my little glimpse of eternity happened, arches, the Kiftsgate view, and a dragonfly, possibly a ruddy darter.