Clouds. Going south from the land of the Yankees, the first thing you notice (if you look up) is that the clouds are growing. Even the smallest southern clouds, on the clearest days, are piled up like northern stormheads. Near the Gulf, there is a constant traffic of mountains overhead. Majestic as these are, they make me worry for children and lovers. They are big, but dumb—mute—I cannot see anything at all in them.