Here and there all over Europe the ruins of graves left over from the Stone Age lie in the long grass or snow. On a day between winter and spring, after the thaw, in a meadow like matted tobacco from the months under snow, I came across two such graves in a mound inside a ring of rocks overlooking a bright sea. In the belly of the mound they were two gashes lipped with stones and lined with splintering snow, and in the shadow of the tall rocks were huddled clumps and shreds, the only snow in sight, as if where stone was, winter still was.
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