The gathered skulls hover like a bucket about to draw water.  The bald heads dangle from the ceiling in Oaxaca.  Between the story of the Crèche and the jeering of Elisha a lot of hair got lost.  The wonderful innocence of the Lambs on the way to the cathedral in the town square makes a covering fleece for the skulls worn by war and time.  Those nativity scenes post-Christmas are as annoying as the glitter between Remembrance Day and Christmas.  Yet, in this country that celebrates death with prayers of remembrance and special food, the gap between the Crèche and the Dia de Muertos may make our jeering of death and baldness  a reminder that a bear-lion will lay down with the lamb.

The gathered skulls round the corner.  The crumbling wall holds the graffiti of time.  The colours more binding than the mortar.  The shouldered embrace binding the living skulls.

A vanishing perspective of skulls as pylons along an empty street.  The brightness of the freshly painted colours hint at an emerging new life.

Between the crèche, the street-alive and the skulls, life is lived and discovered.  The street scene and the crèche are on the way to a celebration of death.