We are making our way through a labyrinth of tombs, taking shelter from the noon sun underneath the overgrowth of plants in the yards of some of the neglected dead. In their wild, abandoned state they have managed to grow more beautiful. We try entering forgotten tombs and look at the pictures and paintings, most of them faded and dark. Sometimes only their sad eyes remain.
I realize I have become more reckless. Thrilled at the idea of exploring, i take several turns and find a lion dog embedded in a strip of wall. I realize that i talk to myself less, when i say to you, "someone's watching over us," but it dawns upon me that i had lost myself in the maze. It takes me only the sound of your careful footsteps to find my way back.
Sometimes i fancy us being guests of the ghosts that still wander the cemetery: the helpful old man on the bike, the old lady with yellow hair peering out of a mausoleum offering us some shade. The statues you photographed, bleached white by the sun. Souls watching over others. What a day, to think lightly of our mortality.
