I am back from my little journey, with a few tales to tell.
Visits down the cobble stone steps to Granny's, late night hair do's with Mombie.
Baking a handful of different treats.
And then, there was the beautiful day amongst vine and stone...
Wrought iron and rain clouds.
In that place of endless silence.
Mysterious and vastly peaceful.
A place where tales rest.
This song played over and over in my mind...
Atop a rolling hill...
In the little border town I grew up in...
Sits the old cemetery.
Older at the top, amongst huge old trees.
Sloping down the sides with newer graves, and newest at the bottom, surrounding the hill.
Of course, I walked to the maze at the top.
The oldest spots, of crumbling statues and forgotten plots of earth.
Where a giant angel looks on.
It was one of those perfect days meant for the memory vaults.
A light cardigan on my shoulders, thick rain clouds that only sprinkle.
And a beautiful whispering breeze.
The kind of weather that is so beautiful, you stand in silent space, letting it envelop you.
Quietly crunching leaves.
No other living person around.
Taken back in time.
Such quiet and cool air.
The breeze leads the way...
Where vines grip wrought iron and trees so tightly.
Trees so big, and gates so old, it's as if they have been there always.
And so, I took deep breaths in that wonderful peace I was feeling.
Staying at the top of the rolling hill, in the oldest most forgotten part of the cemetery.
Twisting through giant green trees.
Running fingers along metal...
Gathering leaves and brambles on the edges of my too long skirt.
Such a beautiful place.
In some parts, forgotten silk flowers meet flowering weeds.
Shrines and statues everywhere.
With flickering candles from time to time.
Telling you, perhaps someone had really been there.
A boy child...
Round I wandered...
Believe it or not, I had never wandered this cemetery alone.
I had been to a handful of funerals here in my life.
And once, Mombie dropped me and my junior high aged friends in here at night and had us screaming and running for our lives.
But now, as a different girl...
In a different time.
It was changed.
I kept my eye open for my paternal grandfather's grave.
And some great aunts.
I marveled at the crumbling statues that I had always taken for granted.
When you grow up in a place of statues, incense and tiers of candles - big huge churches with gold gilding and 14 foot angels- it is what it is.
Until you go away for a long time.
And return with older fresher wiser eyes, to embrace it all in your mind.
It's a wonderful feeling.
And you have a renewed love for the places that make up where you came from.
Like an old cemetery.
That all of a sudden opens your eyes to the history of where you grew up.
And how as a child, you never noticed.
I took endless photos to share with you.
It was so difficult to choose.
And if I could convey the weather, the air, the clouds and the birds...
Alas, I can only tell you about it.
There was a little pink cottage in memory of a baby.
The door removed, the inside filled with angels...
Across from graves so old, they had been fenced in.
95 year old trees, growing right in front of those old headstones.
To where they touched, and hugged.
As I walked up and down, and all around, I saw large black shadows on the ground.
I looked up to see ever so many vultures swimming in the sky.
And then, just like that, they settled into the tree right above me.
I looked up at them, wondering what they knew?
I found such comfort in that cemetery.
A place where history meets modern day.
Where blooms find a way to stay alive, amongst oldest forgotten graves.
Where the ground shifts as time moves on.
Where people come to grieve and pray.
And a giant angel looks on, as he has for 100 years or more...
Every single day.
More tales to come your way soon.
So happy to be back to endless fur love and garden nooks.
And moments here with you.