Beautiful Serenity

The cemetery was beautiful tonight. It seemed almost sacrilegious to even think the thought. I mean, who thinks of a cemetery as a thing of beauty? But, it was true. It was beautiful tonight.

The moon glinting off the marble and limestone of the grave markers made the place seem to almost sparkle. Add to that the colorful array of flowers left behind by those who still mourned, or maybe those who just felt it necessary to honor their dead. That color mixed with that glow gave an eerie luminescence, an almost opulence, to the area.

I’m glad the dead tell no tales. I have been making it an almost nightly ritual to visit this cemetery. I’m not even sure why. I don’t know anyone here. Living nor dead, there is no one in this place that I need to honor or remember.

I only know it exists because I drove by one day while I was out exploring. It was a thing of beauty that day too. Bright reds, yellows, and purples seemed to say that the cemetery was perpetually stuck in the springtime.

I even noticed a few balloons still floating above select stones. The helium was hanging on longer than was probably expected. I wanted to stop that afternoon and satisfy my curiosity about who rested beneath the bright blue helium balloons. But, I didn’t.

I was on a mission the day I discovered the little cemetery in the middle of nowhere. I had heard about a little hole in the wall place I wanted to visit. I was determined. And, I was lost.

One wrong turn and I was headed away from my little hole in the wall. Of course, that wrong turn led me to discover this hidden spot. Well, it probably isn’t actually hidden from the locals. But, I’m not a local. So, it seems like the perfect out of the way treasure to me.

By the time I found the cemetery I was frustrated and was even more determined to find the hole in the wall I had been searching for. So, I used the far cemetery drive to turn around, and that’s when I noticed the beauty. And, I made note of the location, so I could come back.

I have visited several times since that day. I’ve noticed that some of the stones seem lonely. Like no one cares. No one visits. Some of them have been here for years and years. Others are relatively new. I wonder at the stories behind the graves.

Who are these people? Would I have liked them in life? They are certainly quite personable in death. They listen without judgment. Or at least without comment.

The silence here is comforting. Almost serene. It’s nice during the day. It’s even better at night. Most people avoid the cemetery at night. But the frogs and the crickets still visit. Sometimes they disturb the peace with their chirping and croaking. Most nights, though, their song adds something to the peaceful serenity.

Sometimes when I come I just sit in my car and take in the beauty. Sometimes, I venture out among the stones silently reading the names and epitaphs. On certain nights I talk to the people who reside beneath the unforgiving earth.

Sometimes I talk about my day. Usually, though I ask them questions. I don’t expect answers, obviously, but it just seems more polite to talk about them than to talk about me. As a general rule, my questions center on life. Specifically, what kind of life they led. Did they live out in the boondocks, or did they call the center of the city home?

I like to imagine what they might say if they were to answer. I usually imagine their answers based on the name I found on the stone. The names tell me a lot. So does the style of stone they rest beneath.

For example, Miss Lucy Mae over there, without any evidence to the contrary, must have been a lifelong country lady. She worked hard her whole life and never complained about that hard work. While Felicia three rows back was a lifelong city dweller. She never lifted a finger she didn’t want to, and she never wanted for anything.

One day, I will probably do the research to learn more about these people I visit. But, for now, I am content to make up stories about who they were and how they lived. Some of them may not appreciate my stories. I may have them all wrong. But, there are probably at least a few that I have nailed exactly.