Our customary late night walk brings us back to the house through the graveyard, full of centuries old headstones covered in ivy, some crumbling with age and with unreadable inscriptions, and others that are still connected to the living, periodically tended and flowers laid, - and we have a single upright stark white military memorial to a young man of the Parish who gave his life for his country, aged 31 years old. Someone had cared enough tonight to light a candle by his headstone, visible for a hundred yards in the darkness, so, with the dog and the cats I stood by his grave for a few minutes and reflected that he, and countless others, had enabled me to live the life I do, where I do.
Posted on: Mon, 04 Aug 2014 23:16:05 +0000
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