Early one Saturday morning I crept through the morning mist to one of my favourite antique bookstores in the mountains. The clouds still hung low over the mountain village as the sun started creeping up the eastern slope. I had just left the Julian Pie Company across the street, a belly full of Dutch Apple, and my ancient fingers curled in the porcelain hook of a cinnamon coloured cup full of my breakfast Java. I was looking for the book "For Whom The Bell Tolls." The doors had just been opened by hands I had not seen, and stood there beckoning as if to say, "Yes, come in and fill your head with imagination!"