Before we knew it, we’ve reached the 45th edition of the festival. "So many journeys may the sun and moon / Make us again count o'er ere love be done!" (from Shakespeare’s Hamlet). (...) Here, where the festivities take place, dreams are the leaven, a colourful ball in the hands of so many children. Here, we have not learnt the words that command us to give up. Here, we seek out the tiny hand that learns early how to sow, the grown-up hand that will water it, and the wonder that will see the flower bloom—a flower that cannot wither from a mere trifle, let alone from a lack of care.