Because I rarely wander into cemeteries other than for funerals, graveyards are not on my daily radar. As I contemplated my choices for this week's picture, it took me days to realize the obvious; nothing is more silent than death. And the cemetery that means the most to me is this one. I grew up in the small town of Little Canada, so I recognize most of the names on the stones: Fleischacker, Belland, Ducharme, Gagne, and Huot, my own. Seeing those four letters chiseled into the granite speaks to me of my inevitable future. My grandparents are buried here. My cousins, my friend's parents, and many faces once familiar are now buried in this cemetery. I was the only one there on the morning of this picture. I was surrounded by a beautiful and reverent silence. The snow and solitude made it serene. The crisp air jolted my senses, and I felt brightly alive. Glad to have taken the time for this visit.
