sometimes he'll get the front half of his body out there, with his paws right on the edge---he can't get through the railing anymore, like when he was a kitten and went through the railing on the other side and out onto the ledge outside my bedroom window
Posted by
tomitron
at
3/19/2009 07:40:00 PM
Each of us is all the sums he has not counted: subtract us into nakedness and night again, and you shall see begin in Crete four thousand years ago the love that ended yesterday in Texas.
The seed of our destruction will blossom in the desert, the alexin of our cure grows by a mountain rock, and our lives are haunted by a Georgia slattern, because a London cutpurse went unhung. Each moment is the fruit of forty thousand years. The minute-winning days, like flies, buzz home to death, and every moment is a window on all time.
john northbrooke, c. 1570
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