In the 1890s, a stranger rode into town, seeking good times and golden riches.
All too soon, the vein of gold played out, and so did the stranger's life.
The whiteness of the branches really create the feeling that this is a black and white image - yet if one stays on the image longer one sees the hint of greens. It seems to me a metaphor for the circle of life - that even in death there is rebirth.
I love the whitish, bleached color here -- the color of old bones. A perfect rendition of this grave, and its bleak portrayal of an unknown burial. I like the way the rhythms of the fence posts carry us through and out of the grave.
