Roble and Polvillo in Bloom at the Same Time

Nilson was walking alone that Tuesday when the forest offered him a double surprise: the roble and the polvillo had decided to flower together. From the coordinates where he paused, near Cartagena, the landscape smelled of open fields and was splashed with yellow in every direction — the polvillo's five-petaled blooms, their centers burnt ochre, carpeted the ground among the low-lying vegetation as if someone had scattered them there on purpose. The forest was anything but still. A woodpecker worked away at some invisible tree, the chau chau called out from somewhere distant, and threading between them came the soft whistle of a small bird that Nilson heard but never managed to see. At one point, a red butterfly with white markings crossed his path and continued on its way. It was midday, Nilson was alone, and the forest held more life than one might expect on a March afternoon.