The gentlest of deluges for you are my prayer, pal. We’ve finally found some fog on our narrowing horizons of late. I miss dearly deep-fog walking at 4 a.m. on any-kind-of-moon early mornings. The drapes of Spanish Moss off the long bony arms of Like Oak trees gives a wonderful scenic overlay. One could see Captain Drake delivering a few more chests of Prized gold dubloons as he finds a convenient excuse to add a few former diggers to the secret grave of gold. The 40s or early 69s horro-flick “The Man Who Would Not Die (or close) had the ghost of Drake holding a severed pirate heat from which if you could lipread convinced a serial of ladies washing ditches at the kitchen sink below the uncurtained window doing all sorts of things…about which time I got both knees up before my eles and let imagination take off on runway number nine.