It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...
It was the spring of hope...
...it was the winter of despair.
It was the year of Our Lord, two thousand and ten.
It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of Sherwood Oregon, there were growing trees already marked by the woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history.
There were a turkey of good build named Bruno and a turkey lacking one eye named Susanna on Shiloh Knoll Farm.
They had everything before them,
and nothing before them.
They were both going direct to heaven...
...they were both going direct the other way.