"Only when a man's life comes to its end in prosperity dare we call that man happy." —Aeschylus
"It's knowing what to do with things that counts." —Robert Frost
Eager to breakfast on the gamey meat sequestered in the hapless turtle's shell the eagle rose hundreds of feet in the air till it saw that rock moving along the sand.
When the rock stopped at water's edge the raptor opened its talons: Like a cold-blooded scion of Icarus the reptile fell from the sky.
Direct hit! The bird chosen by Zeus to bear Ganymede to Mt. Olympus dove to the beach, ready to ravage the flesh of its disarmored prey.
Poor player (dazed; but carapace intact) was hobbling toward the wine-dark sea. The Father of Tragedy lay still as stone, blood dripping from his hairless head.
The disappointed king of the broken dawn seized its meal and climbed skyward again: stubborn shell dangling from stubborn claws wiser eyes searching shore for truer grit.
|