‘Nothing quite like having a walk around a cemetery to make you think about things,’ said Bob.
‘Like death?’ Carol asked as she bent down to tidy up a vase of plastic flowers that had been bumped over by the wind.
‘There’s that, of course. But it also makes me think about life.’
‘What do you mean?’ Carol turned to Bob, her hands on her hips.
‘Well, you look at these headstones here. The average life expectancy was much shorter back in the 1800s. Most of these poor souls were lucky to reach the age of forty. Now we’re living for about eighty years on average.’
‘That’s a good thing.’
Bob shrugged. ‘Mostly. But would you want to live into your nineties, say, and not have your wits about you? Or be able to take pleasure from the world around you?’
With a sigh, Carol turned back to the headstone in front of her. ‘You’ve got a point. Maybe the quality of life is more important than the number of years you can clock up. Mostly, though, we don’t have much say in the matter.’
A contemplative silence stretched between them as they continued their walk beside the headstones.
I’m participating in this blogging challenge for the month of January, which supports starting the year on the “write” track. You can find other posts with #bloganuary and join in the challenge.
Photo: headstones on Norfolk Island
jml297 
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