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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
