Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Canal of days
Life is a canal on which we are narrow boats with no reverse gear. Each night, each sleep, is a lock. We enter the lock and the water of yesterday is released. Afterwards we emerge into tomorrow, to another gated day. Above us and behind that again, behind that and above again lie the days gone by. Ahead only one day, its prospect, its gate, its fall. Gone the hundreds, hail the one. Oh lucky swans.
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