It was long after midnight on a cold and calm winter night. The moon was already low, setting on the horizon. The wind howled softly in the mountains and the sea roared in the distance. It was almost quiet. The dark landscape surrounding this place and the wide starry sky gave me a feeling of loneliness and melancholy.
There was always a touch of sadness in all this beauty.
The black church and the old graves stood out against the darkness of the night. The windows of the church shone warm and bright as if it was a place of refuge, a place of security and hope. A small, warm glow that rebelled against the cold darkness of the winter night.
And me? I stood leaning against the old cemetery wall, tired and freezing. My hands were so cold that it was difficult to operate the camera. As the moon slowly departed and the night threatened to become darkest, the lights of the north began to dance above me, illuminating the night with their colours and stretching towards the moon.
So I stood there in this cemetery, so close to the dead, so far from the stars, darkness at my back, the light in front of me. That’s how I stood there, so close to everything yet so far away from everything. That’s how I stood there as part of this World
