The foxes (see entries below) were not in evidence last night; tonight I got a brief glimpse of the mother trotting over the hill on the other side of the road from the den. The cemetery has been busy and crowded the past two days with, no doubt, guns going off during the ceremony this morning, and it's suffocatingly hot, so presumably the fox kits are lying low and cool.
The first image above is of one of my newest favorites. I like it for the wrong reason: the deterioration of the stone is strangely moving in a cemetery where most of the work retains its original exquisite quality. The woman memorialized died at 27; her three-year-old child, who died four years earlier, is buried in the same plot. In front of the statue lie her husband and, apparently, his second wife. I wonder if his second try at matrimony worked out more happily than his first.
The second image reads "Our Dolly ~ Mildred." Mildred was one of 175 people, all but three of them children, who perished in an elementary school fire in 1908. Another marker nearby honors 19 of the children who could not be identified after the fire. Mildred was eight years old. People still bring her flowers.
The foxes inhabit a place of such beauty and such sadness.