40th running of the peachtree road race, back in piedmont park --- 55k tired sweaty people --- the last of them will straggle through in early afternoon --- but it's a fine day to run, if you like that sort of thing
Posted by
tomitron
at
7/04/2009 09:38:00 AM
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
No comments:
Post a Comment