LIVING

The open sunny slopes are flecked with crimson peas, whose stems merge invisibly with the grass. Like all members of the pea family, these vibrant, apparently disembodied flowers have an intricate five-petalled structure. The prominent purple banner presides over two lilac wings that fold over the two-petalled keel, where the stamens and pistil are stowed. Crimson peas are often visited by Cleopatra butterflies, deflecting sunlight with their luminous wings.

Every spring, a small stony field overlooking the valley of Sant Just turns into a magic carpet of sweet alyssum and field marigolds, with scarlet poppies woven in. Clumps of lavender sprout petals like twists of purple crepe paper. There’s a zest of fresh fennel as new sprigs appear among the brittle twigs of last year’s crop. Painted lady butterflies spread their wings, as flat as mortar boards.

Then there are solitary surprises. Some hound’s tongue sheltering behind a bush of broom, diminutive wine-red flowers nestling among soft grey leaves. Or a tassle hyacinth putting in a timely appearance: in Castilian it’s known as the nazareno, named after the cone-headed penitents that march in Easter processions, often in sombre purple gowns.

Down shady paths, among the ferns and ivy, periwinkles star the ground, covering every available space. Emerging from the damp shadows are purple gromwell and tiny wood forget-me-nots, which change colour like litmus paper. As they grow, their cell sap turns alkaline, and the flowers turn from red to blue.

Nick Lloyd and Lucy Brzoska write for www.iberianature.com and run nature tours in Barcelona.