Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. -- Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5
Frankie and Slim
Monday, January 22, 2007
BOMBS BURSTING ....on the ground.
The ice is sliding off our metal barn roof and our house roof. It sounds like a war zone around here. Poor Slim thinks she is Don Quixote battling windmills. She hears the enemy, but it has splattered on the ground and become part of the scenery before she can take on the challenge.
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