I awoke this morning to a dull roar coming through the open bedroom window. At sunrise, Honey & I went down to the water to investigate. Part of the noise was an early morning scallop dragger moving through the water and part was the breaking of low-tide waves over rocks and pebbles along the shore.
Sonnet 60: Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore
Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
-- William Shakespeare