Yesterday I wandered around an overgrown cemetery in a twilit mist, there I saw the ghosts of another era. Today, the fog enveloped a fine city and I heard the explorer's call to another garden of the dead, so I packed my Urbex bag and headed out into the day.
The cemetery was huge and so I spent a good time walking around, taking in the sights and the colours of this place that is a place of sadness to many. Fallen headstones beg to be uprighted, statues of angels, their faces half-eaten by wind, rain, snow, sun and time.
A memorial to the fallen of wars from long ago stands as a silent sentinel to the lifeless forms of the heroes of another era - one can imagine the sombre processions in an Edwardian time and the tears of a world to whom Churchill gave some light.
All around, many of the headstones have fallen into disrepair, forgotten and decaying, some lost forever within clusters of trees and wild overgrowth, some with their identities lost through erosion over time.
Here and there, little metal markers with a single number, cast by the Victorians, stand at varying degrees, letting you subtley know where you are and where you can find a loved one.
The ghosts of yesteryear stay silent today.