You have been there in your dreams... danced dances with white owl people & thin, witchy twig ladies in cobweb gowns, tasted forbidden fruits while partygoers whisper like moths behind elaborate masks. Long after you've forgotten the dream, you pine away for that goblin fruit and look down every hidden path for something that seems familiar and true. The birds know, and pigeons dance in drunken circles like joyous bees, but that language is lost. The trees know, but they're just old, slow poets no one hears. The grass and grapevines know, and they're sizzling with interesting information you can almost understand on summer evenings when the scent of gardenias hangs heavy in the air.
