This winter, I noticed something that stopped me in my tracks.
The Strelitzia—so often shown in tropical fantasies and summer-themed patterns—actually blooms in the heart of winter. Right here in the Western Cape, where the wind howls and the storms can be brutal, these flame-like flowers stand tall and radiant. When everything else bends or breaks, they bloom.
We had a storm recently that uprooted almost everything in my garden. My trampoline ended up in the pool. Branches snapped. Furniture flew. But the Strelitzias? Still standing. Still blooming. So were the magnolias. And the proteas too—flowers known for blooming only after fire, now blooming after wind.
It made me think about how we've been taught to believe that we only bloom in the summer. That our joy, our purpose, our creativity must wait for perfect conditions—for warmth, for ease, for sunshine. But the truth is: some of us bloom in winter. Some of us burn brightest in the cold.
For me, July marks the beginning of my most productive, creative season. The quiet of winter helps me hear myself better. The stillness sharpens my focus. Winter is not just a season of rest—it’s a season of deep, often invisible blooming.
And so Roots of the Flame is more than a vibrant artwork of orange petals on black. It’s a declaration. A tribute to what grows in stormy ground. A reminder that resilience isn’t always loud—but it is rooted, fierce, and deeply alive.