The throat, raspy and morose, rattling for death to strike through its door. To scream out the bad dreams and let the good ones rest in the hands of those that have gathered here on this fated day. To see me off and on my way. I be traveling back to whence I came, born again on the first day, but never the last.
– Josh Fleming
Image by: Denny Moutray at: https://www.flickr.com/photos/dennym/