The Soldier the Tree Wouldn’t Let Go
The gravestone of Frederick Humphrey, 1909, lies half-swallowed by a tree—its trunk pressing forward like a sentinel, its roots curling around the name as if refusing to forget. The leaves gather like silent witnesses, and the ground feels heavy with memory. If he was an infantryman, then this is not just a grave. It’s a battlefield of time. The tree does not grow over—it grows through. Slowly, deliberately, as if honoring the fallen by becoming part of the story. The stone resists, but nature is patient. And in this quiet corner of Merritt Island Cemetery, the line between remembrance and reclamation grows thinner by the season.
My latest photography is now available for purchase at crsimages.pixels.com/, featuring prints, framed art, and more from my curated collections.
The Soldier the Tree Wouldn’t Let Go
The gravestone of Frederick Humphrey, 1909, lies half-swallowed by a tree—its trunk pressing forward like a sentinel, its roots curling around the name as if refusing to forget. The leaves gather like silent witnesses, and the ground feels heavy with memory. If he was an infantryman, then this is not just a grave. It’s a battlefield of time. The tree does not grow over—it grows through. Slowly, deliberately, as if honoring the fallen by becoming part of the story. The stone resists, but nature is patient. And in this quiet corner of Merritt Island Cemetery, the line between remembrance and reclamation grows thinner by the season.
My latest photography is now available for purchase at crsimages.pixels.com/, featuring prints, framed art, and more from my curated collections.