Mrs Miniver Comes Home.
It was lovely, thought Mrs Miniver,
nodding good-bye to the flower-woman
and carrying her big sheaf of chrysanthemums down the street
with a kind of ceremonious joy, as though it were a cornucopia;
it was lovely, this settling down again,
this tidying away of summer into its box,
this taking up of the thread of one's life where the holidays
(irrelevant interlude) had made one drop it.
Mrs Miniver by Jan Struther,
who was talking about October, but for me
the thread has always been taken up in
It's the month for coming home.
It's the month for sharpening pencils,
and new projects:
Here is the beginning of a small one.
Two small pieces of vintage linen
found in Hay on Wye
exactly the right size for a cushion cover,
possibly with a crocheted edge using a ball of
shimmery hand dyed ribbon
if I can follow the instructions in my Ladybird book
Learning to Crochet.
The big project
is in a delicate and precarious state
and cannot be talked about yet
for fear of jinxing it.