As I walk through the gentle sway of trees, the greenest movement of the leaves tug at my sleeve. Each tree passing into my periphery and keeping its clarity in a space others call the background.
Vibrant, singing colors if you please from each blade of grass that I have become. From the front, they are a great sea of plants and then into the periphery they wander bursting asunder into a space that many dismiss as a less distinct place of vagueness.
The hypomanic path is one of distinction with colors and intensity existing to the front and the sides. Hugs of tone and value fill my entire field of view. I feel like I am walking through a snowglobe of poppy fields. Flowers dance and plants wave hello to this captive audience. Into my periphery they go but do not fade away into the space others call the background.