A photo essay.
Grove Street Cemetery is a place of peace and tranquility. But turbulent forces arise as Halloween approaches, and the most potent of them all may be the power of suggestion.
Yesterday at Grove, a towering obelisk became a sword poised to strike. A decorative tome read as a witch’s spell book, the cap of a nearby pedestal as her pointy hat. A ghostly white figure emerged from a shadowy headstone. A polished black orb became a crystal ball, holding the world’s reflection as if it had conjured it, and a chalice became a cauldron, a background of red leaves burning off like the smoke of a brewing potion. A weather-streaked pediment was like a haunted Victorian dollhouse, the chipmunk on its roof a decent-sized monster, at least to scale.
Of course, in absolute terms, it was hard to see that little guy or gal as monstrous. Even among so many suggestions from Halloween, a single cute critter was enough to break the spell.
Written and photographed by Dan Mims.
