There is a battlefield, perhaps (although it is not certain) in the Balkans. Many soldiers have been killed, their bodies lie in shallow graves. An old woman moves across this forlorn landscape stooping occasionally. I realise she is planting out flowers from old tins – wildflowers and lavender. She is doing so to honour the lives of the fallen soldiers. It is clear in the dream that it is of no importance to her which side they were on; it is their lives she is marking with the flowers. Each flower tenderly pushed into the dark earth says, here was a life.
Traditionally the colour lavender in the Christian calendar is the colour of Easter.
Death, and resurrection.