Synesthesia: I taste the music, the flavor of honey, rippling across the waters of my spirit like a stone of knowledge were dropped from my imagination sky. I am reminded of wildflowers reaching out to escape their earthly roots; I am wondering where I end and the experience of it all begins; or perhaps the experience is all there is to any of us, and any attempt to separate ourselves from the sensation is to deny the I am. Sometimes the imagination of the fantastic flows seamlessly into a dream, to awake having a clue to the mystery of time. Sometimes, a clue is all we ever get to all that really matters, for to reveal themselves, all that means most would have to vanish. I am reminded of a symphony of aromas conducted by the wind, a hint of a rose drifting deep into my hearing, a word that means something else, unspoken: synesthesia.