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,
-- Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5
tis the season
Saturday, September 15, 2007
THROUGH THE EYES OF CHICKENS
As one who looks at the world through the eyes of my chickens, I have found another who does the same. This site is more fun that a barrel of chickens.