An Old Wooden Cross

DSC_6590It sat alone.  Far in the back of the cemetery.  Just an old wooden cross warn by time.  An old wooden cross with nothing more than a broken vase gracing its base.  An old wooden cross in a long forgotten cemetery hidden in the middle of nowhere.

She wondered about its occupant.  Was it an animal?  It was a human cemetery, or appeared to be.  Had they had a good life?  Did a loved one bury them?  Or had they grown forgotten and the marker was just a thoughtful gesture by someone who felt all graves should be marked?  She then began to wonder about herself.

Was this her fate?  Would this be all that was left of her?  She had grown tired.  More alone than ever before.  Some she had pushed away, some needed to go, and some were never there to begin with.  She wanted change.  She needed change.  Alas, the more she searched, the farther lost she became.  Was this her future to path?  A lonely life with tears no one would see.  She prayed daily for it be not, but her hope slowly faded with each passing day.

She took a deep breath and looked to the sky.  Praying for time to ensure that there was more to her journey.  That her life would not end with what it had become.  That she would be more than a nameless grave in a forgotten cemetery with just an old wooden cross marking where she laid.
DSC_6601I had pondered often what to write for these pictures.  This cemetery was interesting.  This was one of two very makeshift headstones.  There were only five graves total.  Lost in an old cemetery down some long forgotten road unless you are a hunter.  A cemetery long forgotten by time.

It also comes on a day of sadness for many.  For me, it was the loss of another musician that I loved.  Charlie Daniels, mostly known to non-country folk for The Devil Went Down to Georgia.  He was more than that.  He had many songs and he was a man of many words that didn’t hold his tongue.  Someone I would have loved to have met, but missed my chance…in small part thanks to money (Those are tickets that are not cheap) and then COVID and now his passing.  He did not die of COVID, he died of complications from a stroke.  He was 83.

He is not a man that will soon be forgotten.  His grave will not go nameless.

This post went on a sadder note than I had intended, but it is a sad day.  Between deaths, Covid cases, racial debates, political debates, mask debates….it is too much for a lot of us.  That is all I will say on the matter.   They are all heated topics and we still do not listen.  That is a huge part of our problem.  We are all guilty, because both sides are so passionate about their stance.  It is what drives, but right now-it is also what could destroy us.

I am refusing to fade to deep into the negative, though.  I believe that things can get better.  At least, I want to believe that things can get better.  I hope you are keeping your heads up as best you can as well.  DSC_6609Live, laugh, love, and let it ride.
~SMH, Montana Rose Photography~

3 thoughts on “An Old Wooden Cross

  1. You are feeling what many of us are feeling. We talked a little bit on my blog. It gets better the sooner this current presidential administration is out of power, and all that enabled it.

    I wonder if you had explored a little more if you would have found remnants of a house or farm. Often, little tiny cemeteries like the one you describe are family cemeteries. I have a terrible view of being remembered after I am gone. I keep telling musical miss to find a dumpster and toss me into it. She says that she is willing to do it right this minute. Heh.

    Yes, we’ll miss Charlie Daniels too. I kind of grew up listening to him. We aren’t strictly country around here, but we have strong country leanings. May he RIH.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I fear what will happen in November. Hopefully, it will be for the better. Only time will tell, though.

      This particular cemetery was a township cemetery according to the sign. I suspect that most of the families moved away after the DNR took over the land and gave hunters he green light. I do suspect that there may have been some remnants of old houses somewhere. It was in a heavily treed area, all overgrown, and covered with bugs and ticks and me without my bug spray. It’s not far away, so I’m sure I’ll venture that way again at time.

      I have never wanted to be buried. Scattered somewhere I would want to be, but I wonder if there will be anyone to carry out that wish. That is a pity party for another day, though.

      His loss will be felt by many.

      Like

      • If we want change in November we have to work for it. Make sure people vote. Take people to polling places. Whatever it takes

        If you go back, go in late autumn. Trees and brush are bare. You can see. Bugs aren’t bad. I deal with the same stuff down here. Tonight is very loud. Cicadas chirping, squirrels barking and frogs croaking… I can hardly wait for fall.

        Liked by 1 person

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