Long ago, in the spring of 1987, I made many trips across South Carolina with a cassette tape of songs by the Smiths as a constant companion. A line from a song bubbled across my brain during my retreat week, something about meeting at the cemetery gates.
I'd have taken pictures of the cemetery gates of Mepkin Abbey even without the song in my head. I'm not sure why I find them so striking.
The older cemetery on a bluff looks wonderful with an azalea bush in full bloom.
The African American cemetery is getting a sprucing up too.
But always, there seems to be a gate.
I can think of many reasons for a cemetery gate. I suspect part of it is a psychic reason: we need to remind ourselves that we have not passed through the gate permanently.
feeling the feelings…
2 months ago