Bush graves
High above the valley of a long abandoned mining town they stand in the silence. Untended for generations as seed by seed the bush regenerates this once sanctified ground.
Who lies beneath these headstones? Who grieved their passing and tended their grave before in turn becoming memory?
Each is singular and each is us all. The hardest saddest moment smiling inside in anticipation of sharing a joy, a secret, a happiness with someone close. Anticipation of their smile, their voice as they light up, and in the same instant remembering no it is not to be, they are dead.
Death is final and it comes to us all.
Remembering the first time death came close. Cleaving reality. An absolute finality that life had not had before. Yet its gift is the wonder and sweetness of life. The sheer joy of life that once filled our ancestors and will illuminate our children’s children.
Who lies beneath these headstones? Who grieved their passing and tended their grave before in turn becoming memory?
Each is singular and each is us all. The hardest saddest moment smiling inside in anticipation of sharing a joy, a secret, a happiness with someone close. Anticipation of their smile, their voice as they light up, and in the same instant remembering no it is not to be, they are dead.
Death is final and it comes to us all.
Remembering the first time death came close. Cleaving reality. An absolute finality that life had not had before. Yet its gift is the wonder and sweetness of life. The sheer joy of life that once filled our ancestors and will illuminate our children’s children.
Ref:
Gafneys
Date:
Location:
Photographer:
Bush graves
High above the valley of a long abandoned mining town they stand in the silence. Untended for generations as seed by seed the bush regenerates this once sanctified ground.
Who lies beneath these headstones? Who grieved their passing and tended their grave before in turn becoming memory?
Each is singular and each is us all. The hardest saddest moment smiling inside in anticipation of sharing a joy, a secret, a happiness with someone close. Anticipation of their smile, their voice as they light up, and in the same instant remembering no it is not to be, they are dead.
Death is final and it comes to us all.
Remembering the first time death came close. Cleaving reality. An absolute finality that life had not had before. Yet its gift is the wonder and sweetness of life. The sheer joy of life that once filled our ancestors and will illuminate our children’s children.
Who lies beneath these headstones? Who grieved their passing and tended their grave before in turn becoming memory?
Each is singular and each is us all. The hardest saddest moment smiling inside in anticipation of sharing a joy, a secret, a happiness with someone close. Anticipation of their smile, their voice as they light up, and in the same instant remembering no it is not to be, they are dead.
Death is final and it comes to us all.
Remembering the first time death came close. Cleaving reality. An absolute finality that life had not had before. Yet its gift is the wonder and sweetness of life. The sheer joy of life that once filled our ancestors and will illuminate our children’s children.
Ref:
Gafneys
Date:
Location:
Photographer:
THOUGHT
Bush graves
High above the valley of a long abandoned mining town they stand in the silence. Untended for generations as seed by seed the bush regenerates this once sanctified ground.
Who lies beneath these headstones? Who grieved their passing and tended their grave before in turn becoming memory?
Each is singular and each is us all. The hardest saddest moment smiling inside in anticipation of sharing a joy, a secret, a happiness with someone close. Anticipation of their smile, their voice as they light up, and in the same instant remembering no it is not to be, they are dead.
Death is final and it comes to us all.
Remembering the first time death came close. Cleaving reality. An absolute finality that life had not had before. Yet its gift is the wonder and sweetness of life. The sheer joy of life that once filled our ancestors and will illuminate our children’s children.
Who lies beneath these headstones? Who grieved their passing and tended their grave before in turn becoming memory?
Each is singular and each is us all. The hardest saddest moment smiling inside in anticipation of sharing a joy, a secret, a happiness with someone close. Anticipation of their smile, their voice as they light up, and in the same instant remembering no it is not to be, they are dead.
Death is final and it comes to us all.
Remembering the first time death came close. Cleaving reality. An absolute finality that life had not had before. Yet its gift is the wonder and sweetness of life. The sheer joy of life that once filled our ancestors and will illuminate our children’s children.
