Read the rest of this entry »… Stone houses, terrace walls, city walls, streets. Plant any rose and you hit four or five big ones. All the Etruscan sarcophagi with likenesses of the dead carved on top in realistic, living poses must have come out of the most natural transference into death they could imagine. After lifetimes of dealing with stone, why not, in death, turn into it? …
Frances Mayes, Under the Tuscan Sun
Sadly, the story I was going to write just isn’t working out yet, so I’ll go ahead and publish just the photos. It’s always been my goal on this blog to publish as good a quality as I can; I don’t always see it the same way after time and exposure, but I try to achieve it. (One reason why we don’t publish that often. Sucks for our visit numbers, but it makes me feel better in terms of what I put up for those who do stop in.) I may revisit this one day, when the muse strikes me properly.
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My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Sister Gatling Gun of Love and Mercy.
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