The tombs intertwined in the landscape. The rigid stone in combination with the softness of Nature.
Death is a fisherman, the world we see
His fish-pond is, and we the fishes be;
His net some general sickness; howe'er he
Is not so kind as other fishers be;
For if they take one of the smaller fry,
They throw him in again, he shall not die:
But death is sure to kill all he can get,
And all is fish with him that comes to net.
Death is a Fisherman. By Benjamin Franklin
And life, mister Franklin, under certain too stict conditions, a hunterman, much worse. Some have been hunted and hunted from the moment of their birth even though they did not even realize they were being just hunted and could by no means defend and were smaller than anybody and did not know who they had been and were not what they had been, having been stolen of it and were not told they had been left out.
ReplyDelete¿Porqué un comentario tan ¨gloomy¨? Vamos, que aún no llegamos a Halloween. La vida también tiene sus partes lindas y no es que yo sea un cascabel....
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