Where I stand, I can see that my elevation is not high enough. Rain fell on my house last night, but dusted the trees at the foot of the Jura range. It rains now, thrumming on the tiles and slate that are roofs of our houses. I can run to the snow, but it does not run to me.

The charcoal drawing below I am calling cairn. Cairns make me happy; they show me a way. I remember my daughter's first true cairn, and it seemed to make her just as happy. When I am in the company of small or large piles of rocks which strangers have left to guide strangers, I know I am in the right place.