It was necessary to go farther afield in order to take more pictures this weekend, hence the long, cold walk in the lightless afternoon.My companion and I kept to the old section, where the dead had been buried at least a hundred years. Partly out of respect for the more recently dead, as well as to visit those whose graves had likely not had a visit in many years. We brought a wisk broom to sweep away leaves and pulled weeds that were overgrowing some of the old stones. It was the least I could do, if I was going to
come into their place for my own purposes.
While there was a proliferation of cenotaphs and Woodman of the World tree stones, there was a notable lack of angels in the old cemetery. I'm unsure why, as the modern section is full of them. The angel stone above was one of very few. It belongs to the grave of a 14 year old girl.
It was a relief to make our way out of the newer section into the old - the new section is rather more eerie than the old, contrary to the way it would seem to be. Graveyards can be "noisy" places for me, full of desperate-feeling energy and buzzing whispers. Like dozens of half-heard people clamoring for your attention at once. No, don't ask me to explain why. I make no claims for or against the existence of ghosts (or anything else, for that matter). I only know that strange things happen to me there, and I'm not the only one, either. It's part of the uneasiness about this town, a feeling that the dead can't rest.
But the old section is mostly quiet, as if the dead are finally at rest after many years.
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