I walk down to the lake, passing through a graveyard along the way.
The souls animating their flesh in the raw, dusty streets of this place do not seem to bother much with respect for the dead. The graveyard and homesteads blend seamlessly into one another. The graves are frailing apart
like derelict vessels, drifting on an ocean that has no end or particular meaning. Goats use them as pedestals without pride (sheep are nowhere to be found.) I like this idea of things.
Don’t make too much of a fuss about death and dying.Simply live. There is no reason to hide your incomprehension beneath fake reverence and mock pity.
Image by Chris Wait