At Betsey Cotton’s grave. Little River Cemetery.
Barely legible words on the lichen-spotted headstone tell that Betsey was born in 1801 and died when she was 16.
I don’t know who left the figurine. It is affixed to the top of a sort of glass jar or bell. It has been there long enough that moss and grass have grown and anchored the glass rim in this tipped position.
An old cemetery, it is rare to find something left at a grave. A small basket of flowers, maybe, with a ribbon on the handle. There are American flags and metal markers denoting veterans’ burial sites, back to the Revolutionary War. There are red flags for firemen.
I had my camera with me to take photos of the inside of Little River Church after the final service of the summer, before it is closed again ’til next year. I parked on the side of Woodland Road just so I could walk there and back through the cemetery. It is a place full of peace and presence.
Today’s sermon was love wins.