Sep 2, 2025
Tucked inside that small, cast-iron enclosure—the grave set apart from the rest—stood a single statue. Why a fence within the cemetery? Why this statue, and not another?
The stone figure was weathered, its surface mottled with age, but still it stood guard. A spider had claimed the front, spinning threads across the chest like a new set of regalia. And then I noticed the hand—broken off, but still cradled within the curve of the statue itself, as though the grave refused to part with it.
Melancholy wrapped around it all. Whatever story once explained this marker is long gone. What remains is only the guardian, the fence, and the mystery.
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