A joyful smattering of blue, reds, and greens collate into a lea-like abstraction. Take a Pollockian jaunt into a bloomful meadow, the larks having a lark, the bees caked with pollen, quaint Albert eating jelly at the edge. The sun is fierce on your brow but a sweat makes it pleasant in the flowers. You are not allergic. The flowers are loud but it is okay, for they only here for a moment.