In a small town somewhere between Boston and Worcester Massachusetts, a graveyard exists surrounded by farmland, a little plot of land with over three dozen rocking horses cast about. Supposedly nobody knows how they got there, nor who rearranges them every so often.

Since 2017 I have been making regular visits here every few months, most times the horse are arranged differently upon arrival. Sometimes they are decorated for holidays, other times they have hats and scarfs during winter, and as of 2020, some wear facial masks.

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