The November woods has pared down. We're nearing the season of bare bones and clear light.
This morning I was shown a wood I hadn't walked before. It was criss crossed with beautiful old stone walls. An overgrown cemetery was just visible. If it hadn't been pointed out to me, I could easily have walked through it. The last burial was in 1896. The headstone was still polished, the only one legible. Most of the stones had fallen, some were never more than standing stone markers. The property owner had refused to have the old burial ground listed, so it remains untended. I wonder how many of these are scattered about, once tended, loved, now forgotten.