an arena of ancient mexican warriors playing a game of meso-american kickball
this was a violent place, long fallen silent and peaceful, to be admired as a relic of a distant past. makes you wonder if sometime in the future, our descendants will look upon the ruins that we leave, assuming we leave something to look upon.
walking around, the trees and the weeds and the little flowers didn’t care that there was blood spilled here ages ago. they just grow, with whatever they can find, slowly converting the mortar into fertilizer, photosynthesizing at their own sweet pace.
makes you wonder why everyone gets so worked up about stupid shit, even at this advanced stage.
(inspired in part by this post on Ian Garrick Mason’s blog)