At rest above the valley
I like cemeteries. Which is not to say I hang out in them regularly, but occasionally circumstances take you to or near them and I find it easy to while away time just walking around.
Though I’m not religious I appreciate the symbolism and aesthetics, from the sombre beauty of military and battleground cemeteries on the Western Front and Gallipoli, to old and crumbling UK graveyards, to above-ground graves dotted across Vietnamese paddocks, to simple unmaintained burial grounds in rural Turkey. You get an impression of the history and culture of a place. You also get a fleeting insight to the lives of those who have passed and those left behind.
So during a walk around my home town earlier this year I found myself heading up to the cemetery.
I actually had in mind to find the grave of a boy I grew up with but try as I might, it evaded me.