We went for a walk and found a hidden graveyard through a lych gate. The first part of it was shrouded by drooping dark trees with dead soil beneath them, threatening even though it was a beautiful sunny day beyond the trees. Further on we walked, where the sun shone on the tousled grass and the thick stones leaned and tumbled, their inscriptions filled with moss or eroded into shadows. The earliest grave was 1915; some had dried flowers, and only one had neat rows of begonias struggling against the heat.
We left, and it fell into peace again.