The big oaks at the corner
stretch their leaves to gather the evening sun.
A breeze lifts and turns them,
dark, bright, bright, dark.
A green glitter effect
that entrances me
starting the long stretching walk along the lane.

As I walk, the sun lights overhead leaves,
creates broderie anglais shadows
where cars slowly trail only feet apart.
Above a lacy sheet of alto cumulus spreads
pi...

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Great men die, and so they lie
In their tombs and graves
Glorified, magnified
By their followers and slaves

Quiet mounds on the Downs
Lasting through the many ages
May cover cruel tyrants
Rather than wise sages

All men must die, all tombs will lie

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To walk among ruins is to realize the fragility of life

To connect with those who came before

To observe commonalties,

To puzzle at differences

To marvel at ingenuity

To hear their voices echoed in stones that have stood for thousands of years

Inevitably, to misunderstand the message

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