Wednesday, November 11, 2015

All The Lovely Bones...

In Spain, I visited catacombs. Beneath my feet were the bones of hundreds, if not thousands, of nameless people, long passed and past, whose lives and loves have been lost to time.

All that remains are the bones...

In my favorite childhood novel, the protagonist looks at her outstretched hand and studies the bones. She realizes, perhaps for the first time, the reality of her own mortality and all of its implications.

How sad it is that our legacies lie in a heap of bones. For as surely as we live on in the hearts of those who love us, those cherished hearts bear the same burden - the burden of time...

And all that remains are the bones.

And all that remains are the bones.

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