Desert paintbrush: Castilleja chromosa, Scrophulariaceae (figwort family)

Sundays are my Fridays, and so after cranking out food for hundreds of people over the course of four days, I came home, put on some music, and danced my ass off. Immediately prior to doing this, I had somehow ended up browsing the webpage of the graduate program where I got my masters. After reading some of the course descriptions and program values and being bombarded with hyper-verbose sentences that work so hard to describe something already so vague, resulting in even more obscurity (often the subconscious desired effect of the art intellect, to be lost in language), I felt an insane sense of joyful freedom. I was wearing a little boy's t-shirt that had a tiger leaping through it, its jaws and paws lunging at whoever faced me, and its tail whipping up dust behind me. So I put on some jams and let go, tangoing with the tiger, thrusting arms and legs like there were fireworks exploding from my joints. 

Shit, I thought. I didn't do a plant today.

Up until then, all of the plants posted had mostly remained technical in description. Why have I only used scientific standards to describe what I was seeing, what I was feeling? It seemed imbalanced, and I was again drawn back into that art world space, where the visual becomes critical language—no, actually, where the visual is a simple, undecorated expression of emotion. Why not celebrate the visual language of plants, why always thrust them into precise categories that overshadow their essence, their way of speaking to us humans? I was browsing images on my phone, and came across this brilliant red plant that appeared to be bursting, reaching out into the world with a vibrant voice. I felt I had manifested this plant just minutes before.