As a child, I lassoed clouds, believing I could hold the sky in place. The shape and hue of days unaltered; hours melding into months, eons. Friends and loved ones never aging. Pets never requiring backyard graves marked by stones, flowers, and wooden crosses. As a child I believed hope alone could feed the masses; keep us strong, safe, well fed. I still try roping clouds from time to time. Some, spooked by their own shadow and weight, float away, or shift into more sinister shapes. Others I’m able to grasp. They offer clues and cues for better days ahead.