Several months ago I accompanied Poor Kyle on a road trip to Dwight, North Dakota. You read it correctly—the place was called Dwight.
The little town quickly became the second Dwight to claim a piece of my heart.
What a stud. Image from here.
While Poor Kyle was busy doing the work thing, I occupied myself by walking around Dwight, looking for adventure or anything worthy of a photograph. I was not disappointed…
The first thing I spotted was a quaint little cemetery. I have enjoyed walking through cemeteries ever since I was a kid. I always feel peaceful in cemeteries. I remember how disappointed I was when I learned Mesa’s city cemetery stopped letting people use tall headstones years ago—I’ll have to be buried with a boring flat one, which is a major bummer.
This particular headstone caught my attention because of the peculiar way it was tilted. When I lived in Belgium, I walked through entire cemeteries filled with crooked tombstones, but I haven’t seen many like this in America.
I fancied it.
Next I moseyed my way over to the community park, but I couldn’t pass the railroad tracks without snapping a quick shot. I never can.
There was not a single soul at the park or anywhere nearby. I realised that it was the end of August, and the kids must’ve been back at school. It was an utterly depressing thought for me, and my tour of the town became rather melancholy and contemplative. It made me sad, but sort of in a good way.
At the park, I noticed almost everything was in a general state of disrepair; it was beautiful. Every time I saw something abandoned and lonely, I kept thinking, “My summer is dead.”
I couldn’t figure out why this bench was overturned, but instead of putting it to rights, I just took a photo and walked away. I’m pathetic. Summer is dead.
Summer is Dead.
…if only I had known how much deadder it was going to be in a few months…
Pingback: “Piece of cake” is such a farce. | Archives of Our Lives