wandering around cemeteries in the solitude and stillness of the moonlight,
I often think about those who lie there. I try to show respect, both in the
way I photograph these places and by disturbing them as little as possible.
Often the markers are long gone and the only indication of an old plot might
be a slight rectangular sag in the ground, but I still try my best to avoid
walking across grave sites. Some people would be uncomfortable alone in a
graveyard at night but nothing bad or unusual has ever happened to me in these
places. Perhaps if there are such thing as ghosts, they appreciate the respect
I try to show and leave me alone.
Coming across a child’s grave is particularly sad. Gone but not forgotten, it says. It’s true. “Died November 3, 1927”. This little girl passed away before my Mother was even born.