I was melancholy on Sunday and thought maybe I'd head out to Edinboro to hear some music at the bluegrass festival they had going on. But as I was heading into town, I pulled off the road at the old cemetery instead.
Old graves here, with the symbols of the 1800s...willow trees, draped urns...
and holding of hands.
Simplicity...
and grandeur...
And always the children's graves. Here's Little Bayard Swift.
And most touching to me, Our Little Nelson T.
Died in 1871...only 5 years old...
and I can still visit his grave and take photographs of the violet that blooms from his headstone.
I never made it to the festival.
Died in 1871...only 5 years old...and I can still visit his grave and take photographs of the violet that blooms from his headstone.I never made it to the festival.
9 comments:
Little graves are difficult for me to see, but I'm so glad people care enough to have them there too. It's bittersweet. I can see the peacefulness of a graveyard, one day I hope I can actually visit one for those purposes.
Childrens graves are so sad. I love the little violet growing there, gives it a sense of peace.
Nelson has been dead for 130 years, and you wonder whether anyone remembers him or his parents or family at all. Yet that violet you've captured just seems so hopeful of continuing life.
You captured a lot of great details here, love the little violet. It's a bit of brightness in a somber environment. :)
Oh, that violet--so full of symbolism! Beautiful!
Happy June 1!
Miss you and am thinking of you.
I hope things are falling into place.
When you stop by Along the Line and leave a message, I feel relieved. Thinking of you.
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