My early morning walks are never solitary. The dogs always come along.
I grew up among the bulb fields of the Dutch Bollenstreek. My father planted bulbs in our garden and traded them. Every day, I cycled past the fields on my way to school, watching the land change with the seasons.
In winter, there was often little to see above the ground. But I knew what was happening underneath. The bulbs were preparing for spring, quietly, out of sight. That thought has stayed with me.
December has always been a rather hectic period for me. Energetic, social, full of movement, and just a little overwhelming. This year, however, feels different. It feels much more like a creative rest period. I step into action when needed, for example in caring for my mother or attending to family matters. But painting and creating are on hold for a moment.
Perhaps that is why I keep thinking about those bulbs beneath the winter soil. Nothing much seems to be happening, yet something is already underway. This is a different phase. Something else is needed now: looking back, reflecting.
