The Scent Of Flowers
by Faye Sizemore
forum: The Scent Of Flowers
speculative fiction for the internet generation.

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The Scent Of Flowers


       I found it, quite by chance, on an afternoon ramble that had drawn me off the beaten path. The early October sun was warm and lulling and before I knew it I was lost in unfamiliar territory.

       Breaking through the hedgerow, I found myself in a quaint old abandoned cemetery. There was the scent of flowers and feel of peace about.

       Sitting down on a little stone bench to collect myself, I became aware that there was someone else here. I had heard footsteps approaching.

       "Hello, there. Welcome to this place." A rustling of long skirts announced an older lady who smiled and seated herself next to me on the bench.

       "Are you lost? Not to worry... You are just behind the hedgerow from the road," she spoke as she gazed out above the gravestones. "This is a lovely place to rest." She went on speaking in an elegant story-telling voice that at once put me at ease.

       "Autumn is a peaceful time in this little church cemetery, but then it is always peaceful here. The giant maples are putting on quite a show with their crimson leaves, and the old oaks are blazing in gold. Their leaves are like muted rainbows drifting down.

       "The Purple Asters and the Goldenrod, with their brilliant gold and purple, bloom in honor of those buried here. There is even bittersweet, with its kiss of red berries, twined here and there among the headstones.

       "The visitors don`t come here anymore, to shuffle through the leaves and brush them from the headstones of their loved ones. I remember times when every Sunday and sometimes through the week there would be the tromp of many feet.

       "I buried my beloved husband here many years ago and visited often. I always could feel his presence here in this quiet place... His dear grave goes unattended now, like all the many others.

       "In the spring, flowers were everywhere you looked. There were lilacs, perfuming the air, on most each grave, and in the summer there were always old fashioned roses brought in water-filled Mason jars, placed on a graves to wilt away in memory of some loved one buried here.

       "I miss those times and the beauty that it gave this little place. These church yard graves are all people of the congregation of the little stone church that used to set in front, near the road. It has long since fallen down.

       "There is no reminder of it, save the old chimney, still standing, and rising there among the trees that block this place from view of the road. Passers-by do not even realize that it is back here behind this hedgerow.

       "For many years now, this place has been abandoned by mourners, and forgotten. The last burial here was a Civil War soldier, the son of one of the church members. He had a fine service in remembrance of his life and duty.

       "That was very so long ago... almost ten years after I was buried..."

       Startled by her last remark, I looked quickly in her direction. The seat beside me was empty... except for the lingering scent of flowers.


copyright 2005 revised 2006 Faye Sizemore.

Faye Sizemore:
I am an imaginative grandmother, loose with pen in hand, who just loves a mystery from the unknown.