When flowers bloom by Benny Brassic begins to play, a strange question suddenly surfaces in me: when was the last time I truly smelled a flower? Not in passing, not absentmindedly—but really stopped, leaned in, and gave myself a moment to breathe in its scent as if it were something singular, something unrepeatable.
The music unfolds delicately. It feels like an old photo album, its pages creaking between your fingers. The piano’s fragile notes remind me of flickering light caught on film, of scratches and grain that have long since become part of memory’s texture. I see myself again, a child—barefoot, running through a field of wildflowers. There was no clock there, no yesterday or tomorrow. Only today, saturated with the scent of sun and wonder.
This track carries both fragility and warmth. It feels like someone carefully placing their memory into your hands, asking you to hold it gently, to let it warm you even if just for a fleeting moment. It’s the faint smell of laundry drying in your grandmother’s yard. The smoke of the first fire you ever lit. The taste of an apple, still warm from the sun.
Brassic doesn’t try to dazzle—he whispers. And in that whisper, something stirs: an echo of the time when everything was still for the first time. The music is not just sound, but a reminder that time itself can bloom again, if only we allow ourselves to sense its fragrance.
And perhaps the answer to my question is simple: the flowers are still blooming. We only have to remember to stop.
If you enjoy this kind of gentle, memory-soaked atmosphere, you might also like exploring Ganesboro & Inara – Oasis Beyond the Expected—another piece that feels like a doorway into a different, timeless landscape.
