I saw cemeteries and I saw graveyards. There's an image of both, somewhere back there. What sticks is a feeling, a sensation. A collection of feelings nailed to the words inside my head.
Graveyards are closed; long grass and chestnut trees. Warm sunlight and pouring rain. A connection with the past - the cracks in hundred-year old headstones. Sandstone words erode, making what was once someone's life back into a blank slate. Graveyards are friends. The brown bench, gently shedding layers of varnish. Walk around and end up back where you began - after one circuit, the entrance is now an exit.
Cemeteries are just fields, full of bodies. They are cold, grey and windy places. There's that difference in weight between a pot full of flowers and the empty aluminium it becomes. High, abrasive walls and rusted green gates. Nothing has that air of age - frozen in time, in our minds they will never become old. Cemeteries are family.