I've been in our local cemetery more times than I can remember....often for graveside services and more often with a camera. When I was still teaching high school English, I took one of my classes out to the cemetery (about a 2-mile walk) to look at the old headstones. We were studying "Spoon River Anthology" at the time, a collection of poetic epitaphs (Wikipedia: Each poem is an epitaph of a dead citizen, delivered by the dead themselves. They speak about the sorts of things one might expect: some recite their histories and turning points, others make observations of life from the outside, and petty ones complain of the treatment of their graves, while few tell how they really died.) Each time I've gone to the cemetery, I've gone in the main gate, but until the other day I hadn't paid any attention to the first 5 little headstones right inside the entrance. It was a pink flower that enticed me to pull off the country road and drive in. A relative of the sweet pea, the flower was a good subject for my camera.
|This stone caught my eye first.|
|Twelve years later, this one.|
|A grown daughter...but still young|
|Alma is a widow 9 years after the death of her daughter; she's just 65|
|As is often the case, the widow lives many more years.|