The doors of childhood close:
The old men die.
But as long as there's breath
there's chance of adventure.

I'm off to Iceland with my good wife to attend my father's ashes-scattering ceremony. I missed the funeral, but this is better, in a way. No priests or other funerary vultures, just family by the bay where he was born.
I'm going to be doing a lot of thinking, and maybe even some work, on this trip. So I won't be on here much, the next couple weeks. But be not sad, my droogs. I meant what I said in that little poem above us: Young buck or old fart, if you've the eyes to see her, Adventure can still find you.