This time of the year the church yard in our village is a sea of snow drops.
Some people don’t like visiting grave yards because they make them feel sad. But I have always liked them, particularly the old ones, I like reading all those old fashioned names and wonder what their lives were like.
And what’s wrong with feeling sad on an occasion – especially if it is the more existential melacholy feeling rather than the ruthless grief you feel when you have lost someone close to you.
It is a part of life, after all.
I love the contrast between the gothic textures of the grave stones and the delicate flowers. The patterns formed by lichen on the stones are endlessly fascinating to me, I always spend almost as much time photographing them than I do the snow drops (but that’s a subject for another day’s post).
Although I go and photograph the snow drops every year, for some reason I have not yet managed to take a truly perfect arty close up of them. I don’t know why it should be such a difficult subject.
Or perhaps I am just suffering from a photographer’s pointless quest for perfectionism.