barely raining, fresh, sweet- smelling air. and a little black dog, pulling on his leash, he wouldn't understand why i stopped. an image of leaves and seeds, looked possible and if i made a gorgeous image, would he care? for him, there's a certain joy, in sniffing out stories i can't see wonderful thoughts that have no words, stories without any pictures, and so he rests his case, a story for him is not always a story for me. we all have our personal interests.