But like the end of every rainbow I ran to with my sisters, all I ever found was misty rain drops. - J. P. Donleavy

Ambling south along the river past the Watch Museum, where so often one means to visit but never finds the time.

But damn it all, aren't we just as some great playwright or someone said, actors on a stage.

And there. Caught in the morning sun. She goes. Galloping. Her hair flying from her head as Dingle's flows out from his mane. A gleaming black body rippling of muscle. Great long legs stretching out on the emerald turf.