gradually became his signature.
As the tyrant Macbeth grew cynical and jaded about life he waxed wonderfully eloquent about the futility of it all -
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!
What's the point of it all when you've lost your soul - or sold it for farthings?
Time creeps. Day-by-day we make choices that become a way of life.
And yet time flies - in no time at all, we hit milestone birthdays. Where did the days go? What did we trade them for?
This week my wife has been helping her parents move from the city where they've lived since they came to Canada thirty-nine years ago. Creepingly they acquired far more 'stuff'' than can fit in their new down-sized space. And yet it seems to them like just last year they emigrated.
Sorry, Macbeth, I beg to differ with some of your brilliant metaphors.
Life is a lot more substantial than a walking shadow - and a lot faster too.
I want to develop that assertion, but right now I have to run. Perhaps tomorrow . . . or the day after.
Candle Photo - Courtesy of Betitina Schuller
