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I have not given much thought to my burial desires. I idly muse about my ashes being placed in the new columbarium on the grounds of the Buddhist monastery I frequent in the backwoods of West Virginia. But a body could do worse than to call home a crypt in this cemetary in Cosenza, with its flowers, its memorial ceramic photos that will outlive many of us alive today. And the view of the Italian hills undulating on into tomorrow.

 

 

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