A Time For Quiet

I couldn’t believe it when I saw Woodswalker’s post about her walk in the local cemetery; I had, the same day, gone to a different cemetery seeking the same solace! This was not new to me; in the days when my husband, John, and I, traveled on the road as musicians, we would frequently find ourselves in some city where the only place we could find peace, and a bit of greenery, was often the town cemetery. As two people who lived in beautiful rural environs, we were spoiled by the numerous beautiful places for our daily hikes, but being on the road, sometimes in cold, inhospitable cities, we were grateful for the respite the local cemetery could provide.
Though outside its margins might have been roaring with traffic, congestion, and hoards of people, inside it was serene, peaceful, birds chirping, chipmunks chattering, squirrels scampering; and often, in older cemeteries , we would find magnificent old trees, rolling hills, and of course the often, exquisite headstones.
As we wandered amongst the gravestones, we were always touched by a sense of history: knowing each inscribed name represented a human life; each date, another time, another piece of history, remote and yet somehow, not, for we knew, these people had been driven by the same desires, fears and needs as we.
Growing up, the word, “graveyard” was a scary idea, visions of ghosts, and goblins, and all of our darkest fears were conjured, but that notion was transformed for me, in those peaceful walks that I often took in the local cemetery.