Compelled
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.
I find
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.
"No
More Alone, When The Day Dawns
And The Shadows Flee Away"
Lost at sea Feby 1885
What
I think about:
- Broken
gravestones
- Green
glass chips
- Being
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
grave.)
- Missing
gravestones
- Never
really knowing exactly where I am
- Yew
trees
INTERMISSION
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.
- Dogwalkers
- GCSE
black and white photographs of gravestones
- Constant
sound of traffic
- Creaking
trees
- Ivy
covered stones
- A
fenced section for Jewish families (also Polish?) that I can never
find
- Dad's
stories of a little mausoleum
- When
I was a child wanting to be buried there
- Realising
I never could be; consecrated, full-up, no family buried here
previously
- Brambles
shrouding whole sections and groups of gravestones
- Pampas
grass outcrop acting as a headstone for one grave
- Boy
who was struck by lightning
- Drug
pickups
- Walks
with Dad, looking for sections we could never find
- The
grave of 'Jelley'
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