Neville Williams spotted a turkey out for its evening constitutional in Lynn tonight.
Iconic. It's a lock for the Fowlitzer Prize.
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of Suffolk;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our rafter
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our snoods bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised wings hung up for monuments;
Our stern gobbles changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful trots to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He struts nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Vain, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own vanity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a hero
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brethren and the commonwealth
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if the commonwealth be as subtle, false and treacherous,
As I am true and just
This day should my brethren closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
Of the commonwealth's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here my brethren comes.
This is amazing. You are truly a poet, a worthy follower to Shakespeare.
Gizzard in a blizzard!
I imagine a lot of their foraging sources are covered up. I had some songbird giving me the stink-eye the other day because my shoveling was covering up a shrub with some dried-up berries on it. I threw the snow elsewhere after that.
Living in the country, it's interesting to see how many animal tracks appear in the paths I cut through the snow to get around my yard (and conversely, how few or none appear outside them. Deer, fox, racoons, feral cats, etc.. They definitely despise trudging through the waist-deep snow as much as we do and appreciate finding a clear path to move about.
That's one working class revolutionary in a winter offensive!
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