We got our biggest snowfall of the season the other day. It warmed up considerably (read: wasn’t zero degrees anymore), and I decided to be audacious and actually locomote to a place. It was weird to be in motion and actually have my scenery change. I have traveled many miles of late, but courtesy of a moving belt and always in the direction of an unyielding grey wall. Someday this treadmill challenge is gonna end. On that token, I may have just dug my own grave by expending a little bit of energy outside the treadmill challenge. You watch. If I lose this challenge, I bet it’s gonna be by two miles, the distance this little excursion required.
So anyway, I went to a cemetery because I like going to them. I have the uncomfortable feeling that I may have walked on a few graves, though. The snowfall hid a lot of them and this particular cemetery was large and a little rambling, set on a hillside and not always in the most straightforward grid, it seemed.
Little grave. BIG GRAVE. Little grave.
This was a little odd. During my visit, I started hearing a sheep baahing. That’s what it sounded like, anyway. But this cemetery is on the edge of a residential neighborhood, a little on the edge of town, but still. I was starting to think I was hearing things. Then I encountered the sheep grave. It was a couple’s headstone, and there was a sheep carved on one half for that spouse. Then all along the bottom of the grave there were tiny sheep figurines, mostly buried. WERE THEY MAKING THE NOISE? … … … No, of course not. Finally I looked around and saw a little barn off in the distance and a sheep running around outside.
There were a few beautiful birches throughout this part of the cemetery. Not a ton of them in this part of the state. It’s a shame because they’re one of my favorite trees. I have another post for later of pictures just of the bark, because yes, yes, the bark is just that interesting.