Stopped by Burial Hill on the way home yesterday. Seemed like the right thing to do.

I think, in another life, I would have been a stonecarver making death’s heads

I want to be the guy holding the candle while this was being carved in a small shop 300 years ago

Behold the exquisite details of my headstone before the mundane details of my existence

I find the humblest headstones to be the most compelling

Unlike some markers which are just stupid. “Erected”

Burial Hill, Plymouth – looking east toward an alehouse in Southampton, UK

When I lie on the couch too long

Some of the stones are just devastatingly sad: Jane was 26 years old, “an infant daughter by her side”

Enough with the heavy-handed symbolism