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brief cemetery photojournal
I went a-wandering this afternoon, down to the Mt. Auburn Cemetery on Piedmont Avenue, down the street from my house. The stones aren't old by east-coast standards, or by Spanish-mission ones either, but there are names from all over the world. It's a lovely place to go, winding roads and sidewalks spiraling up little hills, strange names and stranger monuments, and big old redwoods and magnolias.
The other day,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pumapreysize and I found an old grandmother-willow tree there, leaning over a little pond they made, with rocks to sit on by the tiny waterfall running down the slope. This time I went aimless, walking upwards, up one steep little hill and around, over and up again, looking for the highest point, looking up at the brown hills behind the watered grass. I found a narrow tilting stairway of weathered concrete, all the way up, and at the top turned and looked out: there are the fall-trees, and Oakland stretching down to the port, the shipping-cranes like huge graceful grazing-animals at the edge of the bay. And beyond that, the city, the hills, the fog just beginning to curl around the base of San Francisco's alien radio tower. The Bay Bridge on one side, and behind it, turning molten in the sunset, the Golden Gate.
This is a beautiful place.
A few others, from the cemetery. (And yeah, they're all taken with the cheapass camera in my phone. Maybe one day I'll have a nice camera, but not yet.)
an intricate stone celtic-knotwork cross:
for all your Gothic Chapel needs:
and finally, this is one of my favorite gravestone-angels. he's just hangin' out on the pedestal, legs crossed, with a book in his lap, and one wing curled underneath him...
...and as i left, the huge ice-white nearly-full moon lifted up above the hills, between two tall redwoods.
and, entirely unrelated to photojournalling, i've aquired a couple of new icons.
*summons crack team of stealth penguins!*
The other day,
pumapreysize and I found an old grandmother-willow tree there, leaning over a little pond they made, with rocks to sit on by the tiny waterfall running down the slope. This time I went aimless, walking upwards, up one steep little hill and around, over and up again, looking for the highest point, looking up at the brown hills behind the watered grass. I found a narrow tilting stairway of weathered concrete, all the way up, and at the top turned and looked out: there are the fall-trees, and Oakland stretching down to the port, the shipping-cranes like huge graceful grazing-animals at the edge of the bay. And beyond that, the city, the hills, the fog just beginning to curl around the base of San Francisco's alien radio tower. The Bay Bridge on one side, and behind it, turning molten in the sunset, the Golden Gate. This is a beautiful place.
A few others, from the cemetery. (And yeah, they're all taken with the cheapass camera in my phone. Maybe one day I'll have a nice camera, but not yet.)
an intricate stone celtic-knotwork cross:
for all your Gothic Chapel needs:
and finally, this is one of my favorite gravestone-angels. he's just hangin' out on the pedestal, legs crossed, with a book in his lap, and one wing curled underneath him...
...and as i left, the huge ice-white nearly-full moon lifted up above the hills, between two tall redwoods.
and, entirely unrelated to photojournalling, i've aquired a couple of new icons.
*summons crack team of stealth penguins!*
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what i especially liked about this one, more than others in the cemetery with the same general pattern, is the fine filigree-work behind the knotwork...you can't see it well in the photo, but it makes the whole design look like heavy knotted rope laid over a lace-net mesh.
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My favorite was the Millers, Joseph and Elizabeth, who died in the the late 1800's. Their gravestones had both tilted to the side, and leaned against each other, very much giving the attitude of support, of reaching to each other. It was oddly sweet.
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I used to duck into some of the old overgrown cemeteries in Charleston, when I was walking around downtown late at night...they were good quiet lush-garden spaces, with old oak trees.
My favorite gravestone in the little cemetery near my house is the one with a story on it: "Died while trying to visit his father, the lighthousekeeper of Oakland harbor." I think he was from Ireland, and 26 years old.
In the bigger cemetery (where these photos were taken), I ran across a gravestone with my grandmother's maiden name on it...I need to send her mail & ask about that, since it's not a common name.
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