Finally had a solitary day in the church. A dim and damp autumn day only brightened by the orange and yellow leaves outside and a momentary visit by a family who happily used the rubbing materials I had handy to record the beloved brass knight. Many things about this old place have started to get under my skin. Evidence and layers of unknown people, building styles and mysterious marks spark curiosity. The church seems to be a crossroads for echoing voices. What voice will we leave, who will hear us in 100 years? What knots will we leave in the weave of history? Outside, nature has quickly reclaimed the markers of the past. Beautiful, abstract patterns are dissolving the gravestones that strain to keep their message heard. I am interested in Malthus's message regarding population control. What would have made him consider this problem in an era and area where the density of people was far from critical? I also am drawn to the font stone, a Roman relic borrowed from Farley Heath–it seems every era must make do and mend but how did they move it? The shape is universal, the are markings unique.
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