Broken, though, this wing may be,
the spirit soars,
high above the earthly plain
into castles of air,
bathed in light,
and propelled toward love.
If the cemeteries of New Orleans are the "cities of the dead,"
Bonaventure Cemetery just outside Savannah, Georgia,
must surely be one garden of the dead.
Some say that life began in a garden.
Here in Bonaventure, it ends in one as well.
Live oaks draped in Spanish moss stand like sentinels,
watching over the carefully tended plots.
Holly bushes, ornamental grasses, southern magnolias,
and a variety of succulents take root in the sandy soil
to provide additional structure and screening.
This is a place of remembrance and reverence for life
that has gone before.
I have long been a visitor of cemeteries,
always liking the serenity the proffered
and the sense that, despite the passing of life and time,
there remains a continuity in these unstoppable events.
Just as change is the one constant,
there is a continuous flow
of life after life, of time marching forward.
Wandering through a cemetery, I sense that
I play a part in this eternal movement forward,
if only for a brief flash in the earth's history.
And rather than feeling fear of the inevitable,
I find peace.
Wishing you peace in those moments of paradox.
Until next time...