As I did my morning routine and ran through the many blogs that I follow, I came across one that truly touched my soul. Not so much because of how it was written yet because of the treasure it gave to me. You may wonder what treasure this could be. The moment I began reading and gazing upon the beautiful photos I knew that in my future a trip was in the works. No I do not know when or even exactly how yet I know that there will be a day in my life when I will venture across to Savannah Georgia and spend some special moments at Bonaventure Cemetary.
I do not know why cemetaries effect me so. I can remember the feeling way back in my childhood. There was a small lonely cemetary out in field that I admired often as a child. Each time I would pass it I would gaze at it and wonder who was it that lay under the beautiful monuments that stood so straight and majestic. One evening while passing again I saw it in the distance. Lit my a small light, an angel stood with her arms opened to the heavens. At that moment I told my mother that I wished to be buried there whenever I died. She quickly spoke and informed me I was unable to because it was a Catholic cemetary....something at that time in my life I did not understand....
As time passes for me, still I find myself drawn to the places where people lay thier loved ones to rest. I will be honest and say that I am not one who beleives in spending time at a graveside to visit those who have moved on. I feel that their pressence can be felt around us regardless of where we may be. Although I truly mean no disrespect to those who do. My sister passed 5 years ago and on occasion I do go and sit with her. I however am drawn more to cemetaries for the ones who are there that I do not know yet and may somehow get to know. The lives passed and the stories to be told.
In looking at the photos of Bonaventure I am in awe at the beauty I see. Such care taken in the statues placed. Such detail. The stories there must be to tell. I have a feeling that as time passes I will find myself walking the trails of many more gardens. Gardens both small and large, both here and there. Each one lending me something precious, something rare. A glimpse into the stories told, some remembered and some long forgotten. A beauty that can only be found in death.