I seem to be drawn to Cedar Hill Cemetery. The mystique of the place just calls to me with the haunting artwork that dots the landscape. I found myself there once again in early March right after a rain. The water makes the colors so much more vibrant. Being at the cemetery so early in the morning, which is when I usually go because of the lighting, is almost a reverent pilgrimage to a time long past. I never fail to find something new. This time, I started thinking about Cedar Hill itself and started looking for cedar trees within the cemetery. I also stopped to think about why someone would put a fence up around their family's grave and then have a doorknob with a lock to enter the space. Is the lock to keep someone out or, superstitiously, to keep something in? That's the kind of things I ponder sometimes. I like the old fence with, I believe, to be Masonic symbols. It's an extremely elaborate fence that has braved the elements for decades.
No, I am not morbid or anything. Cedar Hill Cemetery is a history book. I just like to go in there every once in a while for I know I will never read the same page twice.