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
Slim and Franke
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Our neighbor's granddaughter delivered fresh tomatoes and cucumbers to us through the field. She carried the pellet rifle in case of snakes. I'm guessing she must fancy herself to pretty good shot to think she might be able to shoot a snake. Yikes!