Page 11 of Love in Full Bloom

We slip through the gap, and I watch Ben's expression change as he takes in the scene before us. What looks like a desolate concrete wasteland at first glance reveals itself as a testament to nature's persistence. Wildflowers push through cracks in the pavement. Vines climb the rusted remains of old equipment. Morning sunlight catches on dewdrops, transforming the seemingly barren lot into something magical.

"This is where I found the wild rose in that painting," I say softly, leading him to a corner where, sure enough, a determined rose bush grows through a fissure in the concrete. "Look how it's adapted to these conditions. Smaller leaves to conserve water. Thornier stems for protection. But the flowers are just as beautiful as any garden variety."

Ben crouches down, studying the plant with professional interest that gradually shifts to something more like wonder. "The root system on this must be incredible," he murmurs. "Finding a way through all this hardscape to reach soil and water."

"That's what I love about it. The determination." I kneel beside him, careful not to tear my jeans on the rough surface. "It doesn't care that it's not supposed to be here. It just... is."

He looks at me then, something soft in his expression. "You see yourself in these plants, don't you?"

The observation catches me off guard with its accuracy. "I guess I do. My art isn't what people expect. It's not sophisticated or trendy. But it's authentic. It's mine."

"That authenticity is what makes it powerful." His voice is quiet but certain. "Anyone can paint pretty flowers. Not everyone can make people feel something when they look at them."

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. There's understanding in his gaze—not just of my work, but of me. Of the parts of myself I usually try to hide.

"We should, um, check out the other areas," I say finally, breaking the moment before it overwhelms me. "The morning light won't last forever."

As we explore the lot, Ben points out things I've never noticed—the succession patterns of different plant species, how certain flowers cluster together for mutual benefit, the way some plants prepare the way for others to follow. His knowledge adds layers to my appreciation, helping me see the ecological stories behind the beauty I've been painting.

In turn, I show him details he might have missed—the perfect symmetry of a dandelion seed head, the way chicory flowers track the sun throughout the day, the subtle color variations in Queen Anne's lace that indicate different soil conditions.

"I've walked past places like this a thousand times and never really looked," Ben admits as we head back to the car. "I've been so focused on creating designed beauty that I missed the beauty already happening all around us."

"That's what my paintings are trying to say," I reply, feeling a surge of connection. "That beauty doesn't need our permission or cultivation to exist."

His smile warms me from the inside out. "Show me more."

Our second stop is the forgotten corner of Riverside Park. There's a section where the maintenance crews rarely venture. Here, native grasses grow tall among wildflowers, creating a miniature prairie ecosystem. The morning dew still clings to everything, turning ordinary plants into glittering sculptures.

"This is incredible," Ben says, taking it all in. "The biodiversity here is probably higher than in the maintained sections of the park."

"That's what I thought! The butterflies and bees certainly think so." I point to where several monarchs flutter among themilkweed plants. "I come here to sketch at least once a week. The light is different every time."

We wander through the tall grasses, Ben occasionally stopping to examine a particular plant or take photos with his phone. I find myself watching him as much as the landscape—the way his hands move when he's explaining something, the focused expression when he's studying a plant detail, the smile that appears when he discovers something unexpected.

"What?" he asks, catching me staring.

"Nothing. Just... it's nice to share this place with someone who appreciates it."

"I more than appreciate it," he says, his voice sincere. "You’re making me rethink what matters in my designs. I’m starting to value the unexpected, the wild touches I used to edit out. Making me question assumptions I've held for years about what makes a landscape valuable or beautiful."

The simple honesty in his words touches something deep inside me. No one has ever suggested that my perspective might change theirs in any meaningful way.

"Ready for the grand finale?" I ask, trying to lighten the moment before my emotions get the better of me.

Our final stop is my favorite—a small wetland area hidden behind a commercial development. A forgotten piece of land that most people would consider worthless, but which has become a thriving ecosystem of cattails, rushes, and water-loving wildflowers.

"The developers probably thought this area was too wet to build on, so they left it alone," I explain as we pick our way along anarrow path. "But look what happened when nature was allowed to take its course."

The morning sun creates a golden haze over the water. Dragonflies dart among the reeds. A great blue heron stands motionless at the water's edge, watching for fish.

"This is..." Ben shakes his head, seemingly at a loss for words. "I design water features for clients all the time, but nothing I've created has this kind of life, this kind of... soul."

"Maybe because you're trying to control everything," I suggest gently. "Sometimes the most beautiful things happen when we just create the right conditions and then step back."

He looks at me for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. "That applies to more than just gardens, doesn't it?"

My heart beats faster at the implication. "I think so."

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