There is something remarkable, something beyond rational comprehension but not beyond human thought, in contemplating a Mourning Cloak Butterfly delighting in the first warm, still air of spring; while standing in a place where time is written in stone. One butterfly, three people discussing cemetery maintenance now and in perpetuity (a word so seldom used these days!), and all around the graves of four centuries in silence stand.
It is rare that we ask ourselves, or are asked, to do things which will bear fruit, for good or ill, in the time beyond our lives and the lives of our children. I think we are better for it when we do though.