At rest

It goes without saying that no easterly holiday would be complete without a stop at the cemetery where my father and brother are buried.

This time I noticed something I hadn't before - the two graves immediately to the left each mark the life of someone who died young the year my brother did, but the first was two years older than him, and the second two years older than the first.

It made me wonder whether this was a coincidence, three people dying close enough together in the early months of that year, or whether the cemetery management selected those sites for companionship - if not for the lost, then for the living. I am guessing the mother of the man in the middle grave lives nearby and comes frequently, because the flowers, for both the father and son buried there, are splendid.

And really, it is a very pretty cemetery.


Further east is another cemetery that warrants regular visits, and it is also very pretty but much, much older.


I love looking at the earliest stones - the colours and shapes.



And I love that people bring beautiful flowers to a cemetery.