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
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
This is my son's driveway the first day of the storm. He, thankfully, moved his car to a restaurant parking lot a few blocks away that was not surrounded by trees. It wasn't long before his driveway was full of large tree limbs.