A Walk in the Woods

Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.
- George Eliot


Dear Diary,

Elaine and I went for a walk in the woods near my home.  I wanted to visit the old cemetery where the original owner of my house is buried.  It is up on the hill on a deserted road about a mile's walk.  I've added a view of the whole cemetery as an extra photo but this is the stone I came to see.  There were several hill farms along this road back in Charles' day but they are all gone, just the remnants of their stone foundations remain.

Charles' father Isaiah Fly built my house in 1851 but Charles moved in shortly after.  He died very young.  I've often wondered if it was his aura that was photographed in my living room years ago.  There are several head stones that are now unreadable.  People who lived and loved and had hopes and dreams are now lying forgotten in this hidden away spot.  Perhaps we all come to that in the end.

The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. - Mark Twain