And a few of them had taken to the river, as if they had grown to distrust even the dry land itself. These were the purest surviving strain of Indian and they lived secret, esoteric lives, forgotten, unnoticed.

Angela Carter – The Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman

And when I dream
I dream I can fly

My wings are golden,
Yellow like the dawn

A butterfly in a jar

I beat my wings
Against the unyielding glass

Picture of water reflection, Normandy ©Bobby Seal