We were in Maine on Memorial Day and I went to the Rockport cemetery to take some photographs as a remembrance of the trip. It was foggy that morning and after a lot of attempts at pictures of headstones and trees in the fog, I settled on this one which hardly has any gravesites in it but is a rather haunting of reminder of the fate that awaits us all.
It snowed lightly last night putting a coating of wet sticky white on everything. This morning I slogged around the neighborhood taking early morning pictures of the black and white beauty the storm left behind.
Over the hill from our house is a graveyard. It’s a popular final resting place for us locals because it consists of a pretty tree-dotted field with old gravel paths between the headstones. There is an stone wall between the cemetery and the road and as I looked over it at the graves the thought occurred to me that the rounded organic shapes of the fieldstones in the wall were the ancestors of their carved cousins inside.
Esthetically I liked the old guys better. They looked more comfortable in the bad weather..