You know, I havenít yet found an exact word to describe the emotions that are developed in us because of our exposure to a science, and their unexplainably mysterious connections with another science of a very different nature.
Well, thatís a sweet confluence.
Life flows through the delicate veins of a rose, and we could say language is the life that flows in the veins of mine.
Iím sure our recollections are sweet.
Back to sentences as flowers.
Consider the delight that children take in folk songs like "I know an old woman who swallowed a fly", and the accumulation of infinitive phrases that builds in the song. Or, consider "The Twelve Days of Chistmas" with its accumulation of direct objects. I believe that there is a recognized genre of such "cumulative songs". Don't they show simple folk at play in the fields of syntax -- enjoying sentences for their complexity?