“There are no rivers to take us home

or inspire our permanent devotion.

No hoof prints bound in the obsidian

guiding us into the circles of hell.

No notes for us in the carapaces shining

locked in a sea bed five thousand feet high

and 300 million years away.

There is only rusty wire and stubborn sage,

bastard horses and ranches unpaid.

Gold diggers and skeletons, 

dreamers and the sane. “

Until September winged friends. Thanks for all of you who read and comment and somehow still manage to enjoy my random blatherings.

I’ll still be posting up in the mean time, and I hope you’ll join me.

To all of you – Topa! Cheers! Skål! Salud! Hope you had a fun season and all that jazz.

Now back to the fly tying bench.