Friday, January 28, 2011


Monica: This morning I woke up to gray skies and knew it was the perfect day to visit the Caspar cemetery, a little graveyard tucked away in a corner of the woods south of Caspar Creek. It was quiet and I was alone. Recent visitors had brought fresh offerings and flowers, so the place felt cared for and alive with movement and color. I stopped in astonishment when I saw this plot. The rough-cut stones standing askew with their curvy inscriptions written was so simple and beautiful. I had forgotten how much I love spending quiet time in a cemetery, reviewing the headstones and trying to piece together the stories of souls that lived before my time. I am fascinated by the mementos the living leave behind: knickknacks, seashells, pinwheels, beads, flowers, photos, stones, toys, balloons, plants, and trinkets. I can't help but wonder about the myriad untold stories that lie beneath my feet.

Evelyn: There wasn't anything I was willing to rip for a photograph today... in fact, my day was filled with solid experiences... but I got home at that time of day where the sun hits my fractured crystal and suddenly light is ripped into deviations of its whole... for a few moments I take in rainbows playing out along my wall. My crystal, broken, with small fractures along its base, and ripples of stress fractures, like waves on a pond, moving upward, still manages to create stunning arrays at just the right time of day.

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