The graveyard was eerily tranquil as the car slowly made its way along the narrow roads that wound through the graves. The mist clung to the frozen ground and crept with the lengthening shadows of the trees. Withered flowers were lying neglected by the foot of many graves and vases stood empty with a thin layer of ice, which marked the coming of winter. My breath was like smoke, vanishing in the cold air as I stepped out of the car. No breeze gusted through the graveyard to disturb the crisp leaves left by the autumn fall. A little rustle from a near by bush told me that there was pair of eyes silently watching my movements. Ivy grew twisting its way along the ground and coiling itself up the gravestones. It reminded me of how my mother used to twirl my hair around her fingers and the sunlight dancing off it. The crisp crunch of frosted grass and leaves under foot cut the silence that surrounded me. The small pair of eyes continued to watch me as I made my way.

The closest gravestone to the road was the most weathered of them all. I knelt to brush away the moss that had made its home on the face of the grave so I could see who lay there. “Robert Gold, 1798 - 1825, A man who knew no greater honour than to die fighting.” I looked at the gravestones as I made my way towards my parents’ graves and I saw the endless inscription of my family’s name. The gold inscription that once said the names of my parents was already disappearing. A withered bunch of flowers was at the foot of my mother’s grave, from a friend possibly. I had no way of knowing who left them. My gaze wandered to the epitaphs and I smiled because their epitaphs mirrored their beliefs of life. My father’s read “A man who never gave up hope, Beloved father and husband.” My mother’s read “A woman who loved with all her heart and died thinking of her daughter.” A tear slid sleekly down my cheek, leaving a red frozen trail behind it. I stood and gazed down the row of graves each one marked a journey of a person’s life: each one marked a member of my family and now my parents had joined that row. Sadness and pride welled within me, as I thought of my past generations and what they had believed. Their memories held within their gravestones lay in wait - for what? I could not tell. I knew that I would find out some day but not yet. Not quite yet.

I could feel the pull of the empty space next to my parents’ graves. It wanted me to embrace it and follow where it led but I could not go. It was not a path I would walk for the destination was not somewhere I would go in a hurry. Some day I would walk down that trail but for now I could not go, as it was not the right time. I took no notice of the attraction as I turned away only giving it a fleeting glance over my shoulder. I felt its draw weaken as I walked but it still remained like a kite tugging gently on its string. I knew that I would be back – but when?