Perhaps one of the best things about cemeteries is that they are truly outdoor art museums. However, that may be an understatement because, unlike many art museums, they are also a celebration of natural beauty alongside human-made monuments. Each season brings about a new canvas.
Imagine a canvas painted of reds, oranges, yellows, browns, and greens blended together into a magnificent masterpiece that no human hands could create. There’s a symphony of sound in every step, the crumpling of the leaves reminding you that you never walk alone. And though it’s getting colder, there’s a warmth in you as you feel those you miss walking with you. Sunset is chillier still, but you watch the long shadows of the monuments dance, and you feel your loved one dancing with you. Fall is a time in which we learn about the dichotomy of life. There’s the cold, the reminder that those we love can only be physically with us for so long. And the warmth, knowing that they will forever be with us, even when we can’t see them, their presence a blanket from the chill.
But the crunching of the leaves begins to silence. Stillness and silence blanket you instead, just like the freshly fallen snow blankets the ground around you. The trees are bare, save for patches of white. The animals are hidden in their homes, the birds flown south. In their stead is quiet. One could look at winter as a representation of grief, the overwhelming silence of loss, of missing their voice and every little sound you associate with them. But perhaps we can look at winter another day. Think instead of a winter morning. That bright sunshine warms up the unforgiving night. The day is bright, clear, and hopeful. Winter is not grief but instead a representation of the journey through grief. A winter’s night gives way to morning, grief giving way to the possibility of joy once again.
That winter’s morning begins to set the stage for spring. The animals once again emerge, and song is in the air, echoing off the trees and monuments. White snow melts to green grass, reemerging from its winter slumber. A family visits their grandfather in their family’s mausoleum, the pink and white flowers they bring matching the lilies and carnations that line the pathways. A butterfly lands atop a mother’s headstone as her daughter sits and reads to her. A young family introduces their new baby to the new father’s great-grandmother, whom she’s named after. Spring is the reminder of connection, to each other and to the earth. In a cemetery in spring, life is all around us.
The days become hotter and longer, and the golden hour each night seems to last longer and longer. The monuments of the cemetery take on a gold hue in the light, gleaming. The greenery is lush, and a woman sets out a picnic blanket to spend an evening with her father. A couple pushes a stroller through the pathways, searching for their family plot but opting to take the long route to enjoy the warm evening air. A man sits on a memorial bench, thumbing through his great-grandfather’s favorite book, losing track of time. There’s such beauty in losing track of time, in simply enjoying the moment so much that you don’t think of then or later, just now. Summer is short, and every minute is meant to be enjoyed, just like life.
There’s a story in every season in a cemetery. Stories of rebirth, of love, of joy, of cherishing. Cemeteries are filled with natural beauty, which is constantly changing and growing. With each new season of life comes another story to tell.