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Medieval Graveyard

As I meandered deeper and deeper in to this Scottish medieval graveyard, a soft cold breeze settled around my shoulders and reminded me of the eerie uneasiness ...
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As I meandered deeper and deeper in to this Scottish medieval graveyard, a soft cold breeze settled around my shoulders and reminded me of the eerie uneasiness I was feeling with the despondent tombs that surrounded me. The dismal looking tree no longer had leaves, and seemed to stretch forth its bare branches like huge specters. The fallen lifeless leaves in the open tombs rustled with the breeze as if they were being awakened. A long curtain of ivy dangling from the trunk of the old tree began to wave, seeming to come alive with every chilling gust of wind.
The light shone through the overcast sky illuminating the long rows of desolate stone tombs that surrounded me, as if they were calling me to come closer and listen to their stories. It is upon such stones that men attempt to permanently etch their histories so they will not have existed without purpose. It is the final statement after a lifetime of scratching out ones destiny, over ephemeral time itself, merely to give their short journeys meaning, as if to say, “I was here – do not forget me, do not let my brief past dissolve into nothingness.”
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