Two Purple Flowers on the Same Path

Michel Salas was walking through the reserve when purple stopped him twice. The first time, it was an Ipomoea — morning glory, campanilla, call it what you will — coiled with purpose around a branch, opening its violet flower to the midday sun. The leaves bore the bite marks of some insect that had passed through before him, and a column of black ants patrolled the stem from top to bottom, indifferent to the camera. A few steps further along, almost hidden among dry grass and fallen leaves, Michel came across a young plant shyly raising what appeared to be a Clitoria ternatea — butterfly pea — the very same shade of purple, as if both species had agreed on a color without ever having met. The surrounding ground was that dense, untamed scrub that defines the quieter corners of the Fundación Loros' 520 hectares, near Cartagena. Michel photographed them both, sent through the coordinates, and went on his way. Sometimes the field speaks like this: without warning, in purple.