to walk slowly and cautiously on the footpaths of The Cemetery.
Seems to be traditional respect. Fallen, mulching leaves in some
areas make it impossible to walk without lifting up my feet like
a show pony. A man who keeps disappearing behind headstones with
a rake is working hard to free up the horse's movement.
it strange how seeing someone walking it the distance it is almost
impossible to tell whether they are moving towards or away from
me. It's only when I look up from writing or staring or wondering
that I can see them as ants.
More Alone, When The Day Dawns
And The Shadows Flee Away"
Lost at sea Feby 1885
I think about:
extra careful not to stay from the path (thanks to my 'hypersensitivity'
towards the dead, as a child I could never walk over someone's
really knowing exactly where I am
I just sat down on a
bench to write lists. The sun is above and a little to the right
of me, blinding and making it difficult for me to see my paper and
what's in front of me. The sun clouds over, and as I look up I find
myself in front of a gravestone. "In Fond Memories Of Kate"
I feel momentarily in awe. Take
a picture. Then it's back to the lists.
black and white photographs of gravestones
sound of traffic
fenced section for Jewish families (also Polish?) that I can never
stories of a little mausoleum
I was a child wanting to be buried there
I never could be; consecrated, full-up, no family buried here
shrouding whole sections and groups of gravestones
grass outcrop acting as a headstone for one grave
who was struck by lightning
with Dad, looking for sections we could never find
grave of 'Jelley'