Yesterday has burned itself out: I gathered its ashes and spread them out over the river of time. Today is the eternal now, that which began too far back for anyone to remember, to end somehow that no one wants to think about. Tomorrow is the dreaded desire, it is the quiet dawn, it is not as new as it used to be.... I imagine these to be the three fates of before, during, and after; and I have often wondered why their faces look to different directions, as if they never talk between themselves at all, blindly tossing the day from one to the next without thinking of the consequences of occurrence. Or perhaps it is only one fate, after all, constantly shedding her skin every passing dawn. And as I grow older, it seems to me that the day is getting shorter and shorter, to become at the end of this my life the single instant that lasts for all eternity.
