Last week, I came across a small cemetery near my home. Many of the marble headstones were old, weathered, and worn, their inscriptions faded beyond recognition. From the few I could still read, most seemed to date back at least 150 years.

I lingered there for a while, camera in hand, wondering what their lives might have been like. Did they endure hardships we can’t fathom, or did the absence of modern stress give them a resilience we’ve lost?

Despite the passing generations and forgotten names, these monuments were still tended to, a quiet reminder of how fleeting life is and how, in time, we all fade from memory.