The worst wishes are the ones that are there for the taking, and they still seem unreachable. Paths are revealed by obvious markers, and the hopes and ideas wrapped in their wish clothing flutter in the softest of breaths of air, like the seeds of a giant roadside dandelion.

Rocks stare at us, dumbfounded by our stupidity and by our unmoving feet. Why don't we just run in there and pluck a wish from the ceiling of the low cave? Why can we not dash into the shadow, grab the prize, and run, smiling and laughing and filled with boundless joy and excitement, back into the sun where we can celebrate our dreams by making them manifest?

The disappointment of the waiting landscape is mountainous.