(Would you like one or two songs while you read?)
The oblique light of the afternoon sun brings warmth to the coldest of places. But the cold, cold ground of Abney Church Cemetery resists the thawing rays. The long winter sleep, and the long sleep of death, do not wish to be disturbed.
It is enough that we tread among the headstones for we do not belong here.
Here is a place for silent stone and twisting roots, for old memories and lost love. Here is where life comes to remind itself of death. And here is where the living brave their fears of oblivion and night noises, and walk gladly during the hours of the day.
The bloom of Spring tells the tale of the cycle. And so, even when we come to pass, our substance is transmuted into a new form. Are we not one and the same with the great oak tree and the distant stars?
Are we not stardust?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.
The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran
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Photographs taken with a Canon Powershot SX10 10.0Mp
I am vast. 
Poignant and peaceful reflections.
Thank you Vivian!
… la beauté est la vie lorsque la vie dévoile son saint visage. Mais vous êtes la vie et vous êtes le voile. La beauté est l’éternité se contemplant dans un miroir. Mais vous êtes l’éternité et vous êtes le miroir.
Le même prophète.
Voilà un texte qui est “tout à fait toi”; tu nous as habitués toujours constater chez toi des pensées méditatives et riches. Que voilà une bien belle page. Moi qui ne fréquente pratiquement jamais les blogs, les pages facebook, etc. , je suis ravie, aujourd’hui, de m’y être arrêtée.