So when does it get to be my turn? I’d like to lay down. I’d like to rest. I’m tired.
I could use a break. What about me?
I found the above chiseled onto a
headstone. I’m guessing they got their
turn. I’ve seen some grave markers with
humorous things on them, reflective of the occupant, I’m guessing. Mostly, however, are the standard statements,
Born________ Died_________ Loving father or Devoted Mother, or Pesky
Brother, blah, blah, blah.
And who are these last statements for? It is either the odd passer-by, or the
grounds keeper. As I wasn’t cutting the
grass or pulling the weeds, I guess I was the odd passer-by.
I have brought my camera on such adventures,
in hopes of what, I’m not sure. But, you
never know…
Only once, did I get a very strong feeling
that I wasn’t welcome, and I should leave.
I did.
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