A Walk Through The Churchyard
Cemeteries are the last public good.
When the dead die, they leave their wealth to the next of kin, and the remainder to the government or insurer. But, before either, they purchase a plot and a stone in a garden of the gone; publicly accessible, and without exclusion. The beauty and space of their last big expense affords us somewhere to be, other than a place to buy things.
Today, I found myself wandering the stone paths of the cemetery aside The Church of Her. The world outside the halls of Stalwart Fortress are changing, with less green and more gray, less free space and more market squares, where every corner and nook demands coin. But here, in this sacred place, the cost has already been paid. Not in coin, but in memories, in lifetimes lived.
With every step, I felt the crunch of gravel beneath my boots and heard the gentle whispers of the wind dancing with the trees. Birds sang melodies of old, ones I reckon they’ve been singing for ages, unchanged in this place of stillness. The tombstones, some ornate, others simple, stood as sentinels of peace, guardians of the past. They were silent testimonies of lives lived and stories told.
Many of the names engraved upon these stones were familiar. Friends, neighbors, and some foes, all resting side by side, in unity after all the squabbles and conflicts of life. I knew many, cared for a good lot, and today, rather than mourn their passing, I found gratitude swelling in my heart. Thankful that they left behind this garden of tranquility.
This cemetery, in its undisturbed beauty, stands in stark contrast to the bustling markets and shrinking forests of our world. The trees here have deep roots, intertwined with tales of old. The flowers bloom with colors so vibrant, untouched by the blight of our world’s decay. And the ponds that mirror the skies, making one wonder if they’re gateways to the heavens themselves.
It got me thinking, perhaps, in their final act, our dearly departed have bestowed upon us the most priceless gift. A sanctuary. A piece of their own rest. A place away from the grind of survival, away from the noisy clang of gold coins. A refuge where the heart finds solace and the mind, natural clarity.
By evening, as the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, I sat by an old oak tree. It had seen more sunsets than I could ever imagine, yet stood firm, offering shade to all who sought it. The beauty of this cemetery is a reminder that sometimes, the most valuable spaces are where nothing is asked of you.
I reckon I’ll visit this place more often. Not to grieve, but to bask in its beauty, and thank the souls that have made it so. For in their leaving, they have given, and I am grateful for it.
