Indian Summer afternoon

The last thing I had time for today was a long walk.
The only thing I made time for today was a long walk.

-and there you have it, folks.
Oh, the conundrums of life.
The twisted labyrinths that are presented to us.
The agony of decision.
The staggering choices upon which the warp and weft of life weave themselves.

Really, it was a no-brainer. This kind of warm, sunny, yet blustery day comes but once or twice an October and it would be an unaccountable action to waste it on correcting algebra, tweaking high school transcripts, or even practicing the piano (even Bach. Sorry, Johannes.)

Feeling rather introspective, I made for the local cemetery, camera in hand.

It is an old cemetery and some of the families that lived & loved at 3108 are buried there. I am partial to the stone archway that stands at the opening. Something about the sprinkle of autumn sunshine coupled with the moss-covered, roughly-hewn slabs of marble and stone is very appealing -in a sobering, you-can't take-it-with-you kind of way.

A little sobriety is good for the soul.
Orange moss!
Something about the orange moss obviously speaks to me.

In the background, you can make out the final resting place of Ira Hale. He was one of the pillars of the early Knapps Station community. His house still stands, stripped of its former glory of a lovely, stately home. It is now chopped up into apartments. Junk litters the porch and yard. I'm glad Ira isn't around to see it.

Rumor has it that he sheltered freedom-bound slaves in his cellar. You gotta like a guy like that.

This headstone has got some serious issues in the construction department, but the important part (like, which way to heaven) is intact. I wish I could decipher what is written over the pointing finger. It looks like "LOVE HOME". I think I am missing something here.

Husband & Wife. And some wild asparagus to shade them. I like it.

Either the asparagus just grew there naturally, or someone thought it would look nice.
Or best thought yet: husband & wife had lots and lots of it behind the barn, and they celebrated every spring when they could first partake of its tender, green spears. So they requested that some asparagus ferns grace their headstones.

It's a plausible and romantic notion, and I'm sticking with it.

These are the thoughts that come to me in the old cemetery on an Indian- summer afternoon.