Lancashire light…a lonely Celtic cross in a cemetery’s twilight. Couples and families say fond farewells to loved ones lost. A council worker repairs a crumbling wall. Some headstones lie on their backs, as if exhausted from carrying the grief of generations. Graveyards are the place of poets. And as the darkening sky stretches over us, I feel the pain of many parents as I gaze on the resting places of their babies. Some of these little children were ‘born sleeping’. Here they are remembered, as tiny toy windmills spin round and wind chimes play their gentle song in the evening breeze. (Photo: Clive Price)
