If I could paint the world for my mothers and fathers, I'd show that I am home in nature's universality and hear its vocality sing, ring music in my ears. It releases and cleanses my soul into an atmospheric ultramarine sea as skies open like vast oceans, reflecting growth in a world speckled by green. Virtual and visual flowers scattered and open to a garden's ardent planet. Sun shiney days brightens my eyesight with clarity. From the highest treetop to the largest mountaintop, I see a rose crested bird standing in its statuesque stance, ready to fly like a red balloon floating in the air. Hot air rising and evaporating above the stratosphere. The culminating clouds guard heaven. The crystal hues that sparkle in the sun require my amber tinted glasses to deflect the brilliance before my small eyes. I stand in the sun. As I flip my eyewear to my rounded face, I see the world with technicolor vision. Below are vibrant leaves in the grove, like vibrating notes in a groove. Compiled into a colorful symphonic rearrangement. The flag to my right is waving back at me in harmony to the wind. These tinted hues meet the yellowish soul inside my sunburned skin. Everyone and everywhere is tainted with a tan and born from the flesh of a baby's pale exterior. We grow in sunlight within nature's composition. The Earth's brown ground is where I land. I am still standing. My footing balanced and bequeathing fertile soil, for rivers run deep and I rest on the embankment. Dirty sludge wraps around my feet, just a place in life but I still kick it. I see the world again, in my fellow man's futuristic, flying fashion. I wait to be telegraphed, telephoned and teleported to the transcontinental thinking of those who see like me. I yell to see and say because I fingerpaint in reality.