There is something beautiful about old cemeteries. There is so much personal history engraved on the rough granite, the dessicated bouquets, the knocked-over-by-the-seasons headstones.
I was recently directed to this old graveyard as a good dog-walking spot. Most newer ones don't like dogs wandering amongst the dead, but the abandoned ones are more forgiving of the needs of the living, I suppose. It's a beautiful spot to look over the valley for sure. But the writer in me is of course intrigued by the untold stories implied by the slim information available on the headstones. Like this one. Three children didn't make it out of infancy. So perhaps no one was left to mark the grave when the father finally passed away....
Or these. Whose father and mother do these stones mark??
I hope you don't find my sharing these things morbid. If nothing else, enjoy the simplicity and elegance of the type engraved on stones....
