While the Woods were not the ancestors for which Dean searched, Dean found family (not “Dean”) and would call the adventure worthwhile.

I don’t know if photographers make good visitors.

I supposed we’re more  tolerable than lovers, teenagers discovering beer, and vandals, and then also much less full of it than Goth novelists and poets (here goes for an opener: “The stone beckoned in the hill country gloaming”), but if unrelated except by mortality to what lies beneath, we may think a graveyard another garden, someone left the gate open, and it’s late.