I delight in my strolls through the cemetery. Deep twilights suffused with rising mists. Dense plantings of sweet-scented, thorny old fashioned roses. Crunch of footsteps on gravel paths meandering under mature maples blazing blood red in the fall. Ornate wrought iron fences delineating family plots, marble columned, ivy-clung mausoleums, sky-stabbing monoliths, battered and weathered tilting grave markers. All life histories etched on stone. The silence, thick, drowning out the noises of modern life. I am rarely bothered here by ghosts of the present. I much prefer the spirits of the passed.

Composed for the Saturday Mix – Bastet: gothic horror flash fiction