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, August 08, 2012
SEEK AND YE SHALL FIND
A bit of color.
Result of a search, despite the heat, to find something colorful in this brown world of drought. There are times we can be grateful for weeds.