This morning, I dreamt that a giant bee was attacking me and woke up in a panic. Safe in my bed, I let my mind drift. It quietly turned to thoughts of tulips. Planting tulips in the fall. Digging holes into semi-frozen ground and depositing tiny onion-like bulbs in them, fingers numb from the cold. It seems so counterintuitive to me, to be planting at a time when everything is dying – leaves falling from trees, plants shrivelling; all evidence that things were once green has disappeared under brown foliage and a light sprinkling of snow. These bulbs don’t even need nurturing, love and care, as we have always been taught with plants. We just inter them and forget them, lying dormant under blankets of white, waiting for spring. And when spring comes, they are the first to poke their fresh green limbs through the cold ground at our feet. It is both unexpected and expected.
Sometimes it seems that beauty just finds us.
But we were the ones who planted it there in the first place.