Snow day today. Sort of. This morning, after a piece of cinnamon toast and a handful of Starbursts, I scraped off the car and slid my way through some snow to a couple of nearby cemeteries with camera in hand.
I’ve always been fascinated with death and cemeteries. Perhaps, because I used to play in one as a kid growing up in the small village of Marshallton, PA. That historic cemetery (not pictured here) was a playground for me. I loved to run through the uneven grounds, leaping over small tombstones and angelic sculptures only to stop and stare briefly at fresh mounds of dirt or mud with “Mother” ribbons flattened and attached to piles of wilted flowers on top. The cemetery was separated by a thick stone wall next to a horse farm. My friends in the country were horses and graves. I always had a tinge of guilt for playing on hallowed ground.
I should be a little messed up. But I’m not. I think.
Funny thing… I find them serene and comforting, but I’ll never be buried in one.
The next 6 photos are from a small cemetery on the outskirts (Gay Street and Garfield Avenue) of West Chester, PA. I attempted to do a brief Google on it and came up with Chatwood Cemetery. I’m good with that for now. I’ve passed by this one for years without stopping to pay my respects. Today, I changed that.