It is impossible, for me at least, to live in the Netherlands and not visit the Keukenhof gardens. First established in the 17th Century this 20- hectare site becomes aglow with fragrance and colour as it opens its doors to hundreds of thousands of visitors to its displays of spring flowers. We visited on Monday.
Having been in Malaysia for a few years it had been more than five years since my last visit and this time I noticed a change. Instead of swathes of block colour created from hyacinths, narcissi and tulips, they now had a joyful abundance of mixed beds. Beds with seven or more varieties in them, as varied in height and hue as an English country garden.
“Did you bring the SLR camera?” I asked Josh, half hoping he’d take a few photographs that would be better than mine and suitable for a blog.
“No,” he said. “I’m going to write word pictures instead.”
That’s my boy, I thought.
“I challenge you to a poem-off!” he declared.
And so, as the day went on we dueled with descriptions of the cherry trees, “with icy fingers stretching towards weak spring sunlight that turned its blossom into summer snowflakes,” and “the grass skirts” of the fritillaries among other things we failed to write down.
Then we were over by the lake, a favourite spot of mine.
Josh pointed at a deep pink hyacinth. “What colour is that one, Mum?” he asked.
“Pride!” I said and battle commenced.
Rich indigo was “pomp”, pale pink was “first love”, a peach one, “wedding day” and so on We had soon collected “pity” and “greed”, “shyness” and “obsequiousness” and with each appropriate word we were filled with an increasing sense of achievement and fun. Oh yes, that reminds me, a vibrant yellow was “glee”.
Yes, to me, this kind of exercise is simply fun. I made a mental note to add an exercise I shall call “A Flowering of Emotion” to all future Me-Treats. Join us in France (May) or Devon (July) to try it for yourself.
Do you ever people-watch? As I write this now my mother is sitting in our first floor apartment, with her chair turned to the window. She is looking out on the street below. Just sitting and watching.
I love looking out the window and when I eat my breakfast I gaze over the road at the café opposite. I notice the old man creak as he dismounts his bicycle and leans it against the wall before going into the post office. I watch a grey-haired lady in pearls, white shirt and jacket drink her coffee, read the paper and smoke a cigarette. I think she looks like Theresa May. My mother disagrees.
“Can you imagine Theresa May leaning against a wall having a fag break?” I ask.
As I sit and stare I notice the boxer dog opposite, nose pressed against the pane as he, like us, surveys the street. The jogger crosses the road, belly forwards, bottom back. He is shaped like an S. A For Sale sign has appeared on an upper floor. I muse about whether I have ever seen the occupants of that place.
The other folk sitting outside the café are looking at their phones. Like so many, these days, our default action, when left with an idle moment, is to distract ourselves by scrolling through screenloads of inanity. ‘Chewing gum for the mind,’ my friend Dave calls it.
In all of my writing classes I encourage students to stop, listen, look, smell and feel what is in front of them. I inspire them to pay attention and to step away from the chatter of social media, to feed their souls by simply being in the moment. It is only when we allow ourselves to decompress in this way that we can make the space in our minds for creative thought.
Next month, in France, we will pay attention among the fields and vineyards and the delightful grounds of Praana Wellness. We will eat slowly, enjoying our food and good conversation. We will fill our artist souls with chateaux and old stone towns. And we will write. In Devon, in July, we will take our fill of nature, down by the millstream, the wetlands and the willows, way way down the winding lane that feels like we are entering a magic rabbit hole.
Today, perhaps, give yourself a treat and look out of the window for a while.
author, journalist, teacher and poet
'Sharing what I know to help others to grow.'
Jo Parfitt has published 31 books, helped more than 100 authors get into print and more than 1,000 to begin writing. She's an inspiring, compassionate and encouraging teacher.
Jo has run Summertime Publishing since 1997. She has lived abroad for almost 30 years – in France, Dubai, Oman, Norway, the Netherlands, Brunei and Malaysia. She specialises in inspiring others who write about expatriate issues.
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