Perched upon Scrivener’s Point, the spirit of inspiration casts its gaze upon the wilds beyond. Many people, many lives, but always the same spirit.

Is that what I think it is? There, floating high on some fluffy collection of water vapor… is that, a castle?

Imagination flows — ships in shapes of beetles buzz throughout the complex, people wearing pointy hats walk to and fro along the battlements, a young girl picks a dandelion growing from soil packed into one of the high-perched courtyards.

And then it’s gone; the cloud changes shape and the castle is no more. Surely it’s a simple trick of the light. Castles do not grow in the sky.