Two Leaves

Today's picture is a lovely example of how people can read different things into a simple image. I took this photograph in the old churchyard behind Cirencester Parish Church where burials ceased in the mid-nineteenth century (it was full). The sun had at last broken through and I was on the look-out for shadows and light kicking off objects. I spotted these two leaves lying on an old gravestone, beautifully lit from an upstage sun. In I went, as happy as Larry (who was he?).

I showed it to Monica this evening. She liked it but said it looked contrived, an observation to which I took umbrage.

'Why,' I said, 'I never touched it.' (See, you're getting dialogue as well now).

'Because,' she replied, 'the stone is inscribed to Samuel and his wife. You've put the second leaf on top of the first. And it's smaller.'

But I hadn't. The symbolism of the image had swept past me without disturbing a single brain cell. And I thought I was observant.

It's also a bit spooky but we won't go there.