Good morning my lovelies, darklings and gothlings.  I thought I’d get all your nicknames in this one since it about appreciating the beauty of a graveyard.  Doubtless, many of you do.  There was a time when, on a nice day,  families would make picnics and go to cemeteries as if they were parks, whether they had a deceased loved one there or not.  Children would play and families would chat and make a day of it.  Somewhere along the line that became taboo and the joys of a lovely graveyard, with stone artistry, gardens, ponds and benches lost their favor.  I think that’s sad.  Consider the happiness it may have brought any lingering spirits to see the life around them, to enjoy time among the living.  Then suddenly it was gone.  Visitation became remote, especially when perpetual care was introduced and people no longer tended to their family members’ plots, and was relegated to holidays and anniversaries when a family member would show up with a bouquet of flowers to stick them in the grave’s urn, bow his or her head for a moment of reflection and then nothing more.  Imagine the loneliness those spirits may have felt.

I had a teacher once who told us that on Sunday’s after church when the weather was nice, she would take a folding chair and a book to her mother’s grave and sit beside it while she read.  It made her feel like she was visiting with her mom like she used to and made her feel closer to her even though she was no longer living.  The other students thought she was weird.  I thought it was sweet and could completely imagine doing that.  I have someone that I visit frequently and it doesn’t have to be a special occasion.  I’ll sit in the grass and lay my hand where I know the coffin is and I talk to her.

Then as I leave, I stop certain places.  I love to walk among the headstones and read the born and died dates and wonder about the lives of those people.  I touch the stones of the “Beloved Husband and Wife”s and wonder were they madly in love all those years?  I look up at the grand angels who were carved before they started carving them and making headstones out of something called Everlasting Stone or Everlasting Marble, and these angels have darkened spots like shadows or tears.  I learned to love a very old and giant Oak tree whose branches sheltered the completely lifelike statues of a little boy and girl who died days apart due to a long ago flu out break.  There are some family crypts the you get to by going over a tiny curved stone bridge.  I love the way the vines of ivy and crype myrtle have crawled from the hill the crypts are built into to hang over the front.

The point is, I’ve never felt frightened in a cemetery.  These are beautiful places that are peaceful and calm.  It’s not Night of the Living Dead.  He’s not coming to get you Barbara. lol  Have respect for those that are there and appreciate the loveliness that’s there for you to partake of and absorb it.  I promise you will feel it after you leave and with your mind so at ease the words you want to write just might come to you flowingly.  That’s just my advice.  😉