... I heard the sound of feet on the grass, someone was approaching, and I was still adjusting to the blurred vision caused by the change in light when I first opened my eyes. All I could see was yellow and green grass, a cloudless blue sky on the horizon, and a figure in the distance that was becoming clearer. I saw him, pipe in hand, Hendrik Chabot, with his easel and painting equipment, walking past me as if I were not there. My eyes followed him from the side of the Rotte river to the side of the polder. The sky changed dramatically, producing intense colours, dark blue, dark green, red-orange, yellow-orange, black, and clouds gathered. Wait, were those clouds? They were rough and hideous, moving strongly with the changing colours of the sky. Why did they also start to change colours violently? The sky is changing so rapidly that it wants to swallow this side of the land. No, the polder also changed. When did the haystack appear here? Isn't it spring now? And cattle, when did they return to this land? Wait, wait, when did I stand up? I had a charcoal pencil in my hand and was trying to draw something on the canvas. As I drew the first lines, the landscape around me was fading rapidly, leaving only barely discernible outlines. My eyes were flooded with light, and I couldn't help but close them, leaving only the sound of the wind blowing the grass in my ears. When I eventually dared to reopen my eyes, I was met with the familiar blur of yellow and green melding within the grass. The cloudless blue sky persisted on the distant horizon. It was as if the tumultuous events had been mere fragments of my imagination, slipping away like the fragments of a dream.