It may have been the trees, soaring and spreading and stretching up into the sky and down into the earth. It may have been the words, carved into stone in letters thick and straight, their assertion of permanence both ironic and inspiring. It may have been the silence or the stillness or the statuary that captivated me, that made the cemetery at Christ Church on St. Simons one of my favorite places.
Kathy Bradley: Cemeteries, camellias and cold


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