On my way home from yoga class last week, the sun was just setting and the very air was summery. I couldn't get over how great the light was, and I spontaneously stopped at the water tower and train tracks to take some pictures:
Then I noticed a small, old-looking cemetery across a little street from the church where I had parked. I've lived in this area for almost five years and had never seen it before. Although it's probably weird to want to wander around an old graveyard on a summer night, I was irresistibly drawn to it.
Historical jackpot: it was established in the 1830s!
Several Confederate soldiers are buried there. I don't know about you, but history becomes very real to me when I see stuff like this. Especially right in my own backyard.
I noticed one new-ish grave, and had to document these LONG lives - and the fact that the husband outlived the wife by almost 13 years. That doesn't happen very often.
The whole experience had a very Beautiful Creatures feeling about it. It reminded me that there is a sort of nameless magic in the South. Again, I'm sure this is weird of me, but I could imagine generations of kids playing in that graveyard, and scaring one another, and later sneaking out to meet their boyfriends or girlfriends there. The place felt full of stories. For that reason, I plan to visit once in a while. Maybe one of those stories will choose me.