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
Dismissed
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

I could go north, that might be fun

Or I could go south into the wind

Perhaps east into the heat

Or maybe west into the fog

All directions seem good

They all interest me

Or I could just sit still and ponder

Let the directions flow by me, through me, over me, under me

The directions will always be there

I will wait until I know which direction I want to go

-Margot Cunningham

Sadness is in the sun cup shaded by weeds

the elderberry tree draped in cape ivy

the coast live oak strangled by Algerian ivy

the sagebrush shaded by eucalyptus

the French broom marching over the meadow

the trail overgrown with poison oak and other plants

the numbered days of the mules ears and poppies blooming in a vacant lot

Happiness is in the sun cup continuing to bloom despite the weeds around it

the elderberry tree growing leaves and flowers despite the cape ivy covering it

the coast live oak standing tall despite the ivy crawling up its trunk

the sagebrush growing and flowering despite being shaded by eucalyptus

the meadow with flowers blooming despite the advancing broom

the trail still passable despite the overgrowth

the mules ears and poppies continuing to bloom in the vacant lot despite their numbered days

-Margot Cunningham

Curly leaves

Flat leaves

Hairy leaves

Smooth leaves

Grooved leaves

Wiry leaves

Palmate leaves

Divided leaves

Leave them be

-Margot Cunningham

I am of you, for you, with you
You are beside me, beneath me, above me
I can’t move, I can only think
Thoughts move me to a warm place
This place is my home
I am home in this place
I feel my soul touching the ground, taking root
I sprout new shoots from this ground
Nourished by rain and humus
Summer may come and dry up my shoots
But my roots have taken hold in this earth

-Margot Cunningham

Little brown husk-covered nut

Growing on the horizontal branch

Bird or squirrel comes by and snatches you up

Caches you in the ground for another day

But you’re forgotten and up sprouts a new hazelnut bush

-Margot Cunningham

Little island hill of green
Machines all around
Squares and rectangles and triangles arising
Fallen rocks from the ancient sea floor
Ceiling of gray, then blue, now pink
Cages to protect
Destroy nothing that is perfect
Everything is there
Everything is here

-Margot Cunningham