This is my grave of destiny here must I ever lie. The path I’ve trod through all my life has ended so let me die. All my life I’ve wondered just when my turn would come. And with a very honest hope my destiny is won But if I’ve won no one will know And all should wonder why A man as good and kind as I should really have to die.
but the money that is spared on my memory suppresses my memory in posterity, and that which I fail to achieve in my life for my memory will not be made good by you or any other after my death —Maximilian I
January 3rd. View from Water Street in Charlottesville looking north across the pedestrian mall. A low traffic day. I rolled down the driver’s side window and paused in the middle of the road.
