I have been sleeping. I don't know when I last slept like this, relaxed and safe like a child, without a worry in the world, without waking up, without listening for sounds or movements. I fell asleep sometime during one of the familiar american series on television last night, their soundtrack a lullaby as I stretched on the couch, comfortable at last. Sometime during the night I moved to bed, and according to reports this morning I agreed to having the cat in the bedroom (I am allergic - were I conscious I'd never allow it.) I woke up late this morning to glorious sunshine, to a country of shimmering waters and intensely clear colours. From the bedroom window we did not see the idyllic views of Jersey, or the old walled city of St. Malo, or the City-sprawl of northern London, but a fjord, a mountain, and the light of late morning. It was an awakening from a dream. The sounds were right, the smells were right, the cool air from the window was right... and the dream of the last three weeks of travelling - it all started when I went to Bergen, after all - was gone. I was here, at home, and I had finally been able to sleep.
I know, in a few days I'll start longing for travelling again - but not until the too-real laundry has been done.