wild cucumber tendrils twining into oak tree; E side Albany Hill
Wild cucumber vine on coast live oak

Something is reaching
Something is grasping
Oh, sadness
That is my madness
We cannot know what is not corporeal
We spin in circles
Trying to guess
But it is only an outline or a fuzzy shape
The reality may beg to differ
And our conception is shattered
Blown apart
Scattered to the wind
Stomped on
But that kernel of intuition keeps us going
It spawns hope, creativity, happiness, action
Yes, it may be smothered in time
But it will be replaced by another
Because without dreams we are dull, depressed, lifeless

-Margot Cunningham

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