30 Aug White Roses
The cemetery stretches into the distance. Monumental headstones made of York stone sit near, marble with occasional flower vases in the far reaches as the centuries shift. I park randomly, stepping out to find my great great uncle Jehu’s grave and along the first line of stones there are several familiar surnames. I scatter ginger cake and crumbly cheese, leave white roses as offerings to these forebears I never met who lived in this town I never knew until now.
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