Travelogue: Brompton Cemetery on a Sunday - Photos & Audio
Mother Nature's Library of the Dead
🎧 Six Minutes of Audio from Brompton Cemetery: Birds, wind in trees, ambient conversations, footsteps, London traffic in the distance. Listen for a richer experience.
What I like most about cemeteries is that they’re quiet, like libraries of the dead. Brompton, especially, is one of my absolute favorites. Lines from The Smiths song Cemetry Gates come to mind:
all those people all those lives, where are they now?
With loves and hates and passions just like mine,
they were born and then they lived and then died.
Seems so unfair. I want to cry.
Cemeteries have a way of putting things into perspective. Brompton, in the middle of the bustling Borough of Chelsea, is forty acres of sublime and lush green, bursting with spring flowers, busy bees, randy pigeons, and brave squirrels. Brompton always clears my head. It’s the cure for what ails me. Each time I visit, I’m dazzled by Mother Nature and grateful to catch my breath. My heart is opened by rustling leaves, pink flowers falling like confetti in the wind, and murders of crows cawing to set the mood. Faraway voices bounce off ancient stones.
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On a Sunday, I ambled the shady lanes. It was an especially busier than usual day filled with walkers, strollers, couples, families, kids on scooters, and a gaggle of drunks. One man was so wasted he couldn’t walk on his own. He toppled onto the grass and I gasped because I thought he was going to slam his head into a gravestone. He missed it by an inch. His friends laughed (sloshed, but not plastered), hoisted him to his feet and then ambled to a quiet glade, guzzled more beers and cat-called single women. A day like this is unusual. Most days, Brompton is enthusiastically a graveyard. It’s especially beautiful on days when it looks like it might rain.
Make sure to check out the ambient audio above for a richer experience.
Note: I tried out my new Canon Powershot which has a great macro feature. The flowers in this post are teeny-tiny. The lavender ones (I wish I knew the name…Forget Me Nots?) are smaller than a dime.
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