Always a cemetery in front of us. Always one behind us. We forget who lives there. Sometimes we remember.They are good places to sleep near. Good places for birds and insects. Good places to read in.Leaves falling, light moving, shadows and then snow. All that. And it seems as if our names are spelled out slowly onto the stones, our dates marked. More sleep than we need, perhaps. I wander back down Cemetery Road, by Festival Road to Chapel Street. Home.

What a wonderful quote Steve......thank you!

'nuff said. Beautiful.

Thank you!