Another rambling from Kirchoff’s

A cool wind blew from the north, spreading yellow and red leaves over the graves. The headstones spoke their age from their slants. Celtic crosses, spires, and angelic figures marked the ground where remains lay buried deep beneath the soil. Evan spread the cloth just to the side of the plot. He had packed cold chicken, cheeses, bread, and wine from his cellar. The moment seemed eerie as if we were the only living people in the world. Would spirits rise from these ancient sites? Would they watch us while we dined? And why did he bring me here? I do love old gravestones. The antiquated art is mystic and beautiful. But a picnic in a graveyard? And it’s getting late. The sun is casting eerie shadows as Evan offers me a glass of wine. That shadow moved!

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