all the days we’ve been apart
I saw ghosts that day.
The first one was when I turned (randomly, I thought at first) down a ranch road. A wave of memories of one of my best friends from high school and college almost swept me away the very second I made the turn; I guess I thought I knew the things that resided in my memory but I was wrong. And then I saw the house where my friend’s grandparents used to live. I know it was the same house; I could feel it. I had made previous efforts to find it before, but it wasn’t until I wasn’t looking for it that it appeared to me. As I drove by, slowly, I acknowledged the ghosts that I had stirred up.
Later, I went to the town where my adult-life best friend lived. She died almost two years ago, and I am still staggered by the loss. I had lunch at a place we’d gone to before. Then I drove by the house where she’d lived (and where she died); her husband’s truck was in the driveway and I recognized some of his things in the yard. I stopped, briefly, and nodded sadly through my tears at the ghosts who were still there.
It was not the day I expected to have, but it was the day I got.
the damage and the dying done
We only had a very short time to visit this cemetery; a whole day wouldn’t have been enough. I had to hurry…and fell into the trap of being so busy taking pictures that I failed to slow down and take in the feeling of the place, to really SEE what was there. (For this, I have no excuse: a have a tattoo on my wrist that says, “Take time to see.” I didn’t even take time to read my own ink.)
But anyway, here’s a mausoleum with a reflection.
And, because I was in a mood when I wrote this, I threw in a Bruce Cockburn line – the damage and the dying done – because I felt like it. (It’s from a beautiful spoken word piece “The Charity of Night.”)
Necrópolis Cristóbal Colón
I am not sure what this thing was…when I spotted it from the other side of the cemetery, I thought it was a caretakers’ shack. But when I got there, it looked like only the door of a shack…and the rest of the shack was nowhere to be seen. But it did make the stop (and the numerous associated u-turns to get there) worth the effort.
This explosion of green was the sort of eye-catching contrast with the rest of the place that of course required a color photograph.
I hope this artificial-turf oasis brings solace to the Cantu family; it brought me an almost overwhelming sense of wonder.
Cementerio de la merced
My workflow is probably weird. But it works. What I do is edit the photos a couple of weeks out from the day they’ll post. I give them a title, and start the blog post. Then closer to time, I’ll write whatever I think needs to be said.
When I saw a post that I had titled “Sisters” I didn’t have the faintest recollection of what the photo was. I am not in contact with my own sister, so the topic isn’t exactly something that I talk about or photograph or anything like that. And I was temporarily confused.
And then, when I looked at the photo, I remembered that I’d found a little part of this cemetery that was dedicated to deceased nuns from the Sisters of St. Mary of Namur. That made a LOT more sense. (By the way, the Sisters of Namur were established in Namur, Belguim, and have had a presence in Fort Worth since 1873.)
Fort Worth, Texas