The blooming of the flowers arouses the inspiration in my heart of a wondrous explosion of color and spectral magic while re-asserting my view of the rainbow and prismatic retroaction of scientific aspiration of continuous growth of the human race while tapping my laintent inner child and youthful joy that I have so lost while working within the Beltway that circles me like a ring of death.

Mr. Davveed - I read with interest the affluency of your perpendicular views and the inordinate pomposity with which you expressed the aforethought and it is a torrential accumulation of contingent metaphysical fortitude of 42 and your effervescence is an actuary of luminescence.

Sir Marzipan,

Yes I completely agree with your interpretation of the "Flower In Blume - Reston, VA" critique in that the effervescence is an actuary that does spew forth in an "orgasmic" fashion much like one would fine with the Kirk & Spock or Zena & Gabrielle fan obsession types of consumers, but; I digress in the fact that I do not belong to either "camp" as it were yet I still find that the photograph transcends my image of what one thinks and feels to the point that I find myself questioning my childhood and my reason for being without being accosted by a large club like device on all Hallows eve while embracing the religion of "42" and its quintessential poetry of thought and beauty while not casting a dark shadow across all of humanity for commuting in obviously large vehicles to and fro from work on the circle of death to the hell that is better known as NoVA.

See, see the actuary sky
Marvel at its big chartreuse depths.
Tell me, Daveed do you
Wonder why the cuttlefish ignores you?
Why its foobly stare
makes you feel execratable.
I can tell you, it is
Worried by your espubium facial growth
That looks like
A bratwurst.
What's more, it knows
Your cheliate potting shed
Smells of phelgm droplet.
Everything under the big actuary sky
Asks why, why do you even bother?
You only charm stinky cheeses.

I, good sir Daveed of the constantly changing name, am not a sir but am a froopy retroactive to the damsels in distress of yonder envisions, flouting flowing garmatoids with a love for all things beautiful as I no doubt understate the beauty of you sir to be sure assuch and towith bear witness to the freelancing landover effect of your capitulation, frauduently displayed via a surreal knowledge of my 42 position.