Do, a deer, a female deer.
Re, a drop of golden sun.
Mi, a name i call myself.
Fa, a long, long way to run...
Forgive me for finding new meaning in this classic Sound of Music favorite, but it somehow seemed apropos. There was, after all, the deer, the golden rays of the late afternoon sun...and me, of course. How far we all have to run is anybody's guess.
After spending a day exploring my wife's heritage in old seaside towns and graveyards, friends alerted us to some deer remains near their home on Heckman's Island and we (or at least i) jumped at the chance to track down a somewhat different kind of ancestral boneyard. Our rituals of human burial have been highly formalized and codified over the centuries. Our monuments stand prim and proper beyond cemetery walls in honored memory to our departed loved ones, at least until that inevitable day when wind, salt and sea erase those names and words of kind remembrance beyond recognition, leaving only cold, forgetful stones to shout anonymity at the ubiquitous skies.
Nature has her own way of dealing with the dead, but somehow patterns are still formed, fleeting and fading, yet never the less strong in their monolithic and iconic presence. The time for these random and transitory shrines to nature's lost children is short. It could be mere months before all evidence of this deer are gone, dragged away or sunk beneath the ground to fossilize in the cold, wet earth well away from sight of man or beast. My hope in these captures is that they might serve as Memento Mori for the living for perhaps another day.
(please click on images for expanded viewing)
©David Sorcher 2015
©David Sorcher 2015
©David Sorcher 2015
©David Sorcher 2015
©David Sorcher 2015
©David Sorcher 2015
©David Sorcher 2015
©David Sorcher 2015
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