The air today tugs my heart toward misty places where sheer rock walls rise around wet grass and short, twisted trees that I may climb or sit under.  Nearby drops of water settle upon the surface of a pool and I can lean over to see myself in the ripples.  The air is cool beneath a rock overhang but a breeze freshens it with the smell of tree bark in rain.  The sky is overcast and beneath it, sitting on a log or a stump, I write, write, write, and my imaginings perch upon the stony ledges, sentinels of the dream.