Here the dead sleep – the quiet dead.
Disturbs them ever,
and no storm dismays.
Winter mid snow caresses the tired ground,
And the wind roars about the woodland ways.
Springtime and summer and red autumn pass,
With leaf and bloom and pipe of wind and bird,
And the old earth puts forth her tender grass,
By them unfelt, unheeded and unheard.
Our centuries to them are but as strokes
In the dim gaunt of some far-off chime.
~ Archibald Lampman
Cemeteries in the snow. Utter silence but for the crunching of the white snow underfoot. I enjoy walking through these silent cities of the dead. The snow lies upon various tombs and monuments adding a new dimension to the stauary's stance.
Walking in the stillness of an old cemetery gives you time to reflect on life as you gaze upon the many who passed before us.
Old stones lie tumbled and crooked with pieces missing
In winter’s months when all is bare
No flowers to distract looking eyes
We see the gravestones wearing away
And the remainder of unfinished good-byes
New tree growth next to old stones can cause them to be buckled upward
President McKinley's Monument standing silently in guard over the cemetery
The mists swirl, the moon shines bright.
No one dares stray here.
They would never desire to,
Unless the earth covers what they hold dear.
I watch as nature masks herself In flakes of snow that leap and twirl
They fall in endless chaos
Hiding her unveiled cruelty. The stones bear the weight of snow and ice
Graves covered in pure white snow as if a cloud from heaven had descended and shrouded the stones in a ethereal blanket.
Take time out to visit a cemetery in the early months of the new year.
Walk gently, dress warmly and take a camera. (and something hot to drink!)
Until next time, Sherri