When I approached this cemetary to make a picture, I saw an old Greek women tidying up someone’s grave; she removed the old flowers and replaced them by fresh ones. She cleaned the grave from fallen leaves. And she placed new candles. I turned around and went away for a smoke. One doesn’t make pictures of people speaking with the dead. When I came back she was gone and I saw how the old tree was bend over by the wind, which is the breath of life. So life goes one.