The Reunions That Bloom in the Landscape

I had just finished a small cup of coffee with cinnamon and could already feel the energy arriving in my body for another running session. My long runs usually take place very early in the morning, but this Sunday I was unable to follow my usual routine. The run happened in the late afternoon, a time when almost all the flowers I usually observe are already closed, waiting for the next sunrise.

Aware of how these encounters would unfold, I spotted several species gathered within their own rhythms. Closed flowers, folded petals, movements that announce the end of the day. And it was during this run that I noticed something curious: A bond had begun to form.

Have you ever met a friend or a family member and, before any conversation begins, simply wanted to know whether they were doing well? That is the feeling I have been experiencing when I encounter certain plants again along the way. This became even more evident when I came across one of the trees I often observe during my runs.

The genuine happiness of seeing it so beautiful, covered in white blossoms, was unexpected. For a moment, I had the impression that it was sharing its latest news with me, just as an old friend would after some time apart.

Such a beautiful encounter was not part of my plans, unlike the mandacaru flower, which I was certain I would find.

Mandacaru Flower — Petrolina Riverfront, Pernambuco, Brazil

A few days earlier, it was still closed, on the verge of blooming. I passed by imagining the moment when I would return to find it open. But when I arrived, I found only emptiness.

It was as if the flower had never existed.

I believe someone removed it before it reached full bloom, and in that moment, a sense of loss emerged. Not because of the plant itself, but because of the encounter I had hoped to experience.

Perhaps this is what happens when we observe something regularly: We begin to follow stories, we wait for blossoms, we notice absences, we celebrate returns and we become witnesses to small events that pass unnoticed by most people.

I have felt that observing, studying, drawing, and painting in watercolor are transforming the way I relate to the landscape.

Plants are no longer merely objects of study. Each walk reveals individuals, cycles, subtle changes, and enduring presences... By drawing them, I learn their forms, and by observing them, i discover their colors.

And by returning to encounter them again, I begin to understand their rhythms. Little by little, I have come to realize that the true lesson may not lie simply in representing a species on paper, but in developing the ability to be fully present before it.