Monuments to the living I wended my way along a path- in what place and time I do not know. At once the boulevards of Roman glory then rutted roads, turned to slop in monsoon rains. The trees burgeoning a hundred million buds bursting forth in thunderous applause. The trees waving, radiant in the summer solstice sun The trees, grown cold as time vitrifies their bark and all that remains are monuments to the living. Share this:EmailTwitterRedditFacebookLike this:Like Loading... Related Author: AJM Writer, sociologist, Unitarian Universalist. View all posts by AJM