rose hill on film
Earlier this month, I shared bits and pieces of a weekend trip to Evansville. I also put together a post devoted the Jewish cemetery for which my friend is a sexton (a word for which we try to find deliberate and unnecessary use). My friend's house is, quite literally, right next to the cemetery. It is housed on the same grounds, and the kitchen window overlooks many of the gravestones. Though I will not argue its potential creepiness, I actually found the area peaceful. The property rests atop a hill, so, late in the day, the shadows are long and the sunsets glorious.
On my last evening there, I took a walk through the cemetery, up and down the paths. I looked at flowers, shrubs, memorials, interesting gravestones, dates and names. It was calm in its own, morbid way--a way reminiscent of how you feel when you wander Arlington, Gettysburg, an unnamed Civil War memorial along a highway.