What is Ghoul For You...

Ghoulish tho it may be, I love cemeteries. Always have, always will.
My love for them started at an early age when I would hear whispers of this mythical place being bandied about at family gathering, but in such delicate and hushed tones that you would have thought that the very mentioning of the name out loud would bring the wrath of the great God's themselves.
What was in this place? Why did people go there? Why did we put our people there? More importantly, why did we leave them there?
As I got older some of these questions got answered, and some just gave me new questions.
You never forget your first funeral. Mine was, of course, for some woman I didn't even know, being as young as I was. It was back in Jamaica, in the country, not far from my Grandmother's house. I remember the rain, the somber mood of everybody here, and in particular, I remember the absence of beauty.
Why did we put our loved ones in such an ugly place, and leave them there no less?! If we really cared about them shouldn't we put them somewhere more aesthetically pleasing to the eye?! I'm sure that if they had the strength they would crawl up out of their graves and walk themselves to a more pleasing plot, never bothering to give us a final look on their way there.
After seeing this muddy well of a hole I wouldn't blame them.
It was only later on in life that I fond out that cemeteries can be some of the most beautiful places to visit imaginable. My first foray into the world of the dead aside, I've learned that burying people can be very expensive but when they can afford it people tend to take great and loving care of their dearly departed. They display such emblems at their grave sites as large angels, tiny cherubs, scrolls, Jesus Christ, in his many manifestations, and crosses a plenty.

Recently, I got the opportunity to pay a return visit to the Mount Royal/Cote Des Neiges Cemetery by way of an outing with my photo group, The United Photographer's of Montreal. As was usual for me I was running late, so I had to wander around by myself and hopefully meet up with my group later on that day.
Five minutes in and I was immediately immersed in my comfort zone. Lost amongst the marble and stone I was helpless to find my way out of the mazes of ancient Mausoleums and garish shrines. Everywhere I looked, either up or down, I was spotted by some monument to a loved one or other that was eying me with as equal an intensity as I them.

I wondered if it was my imagination that I thought they looked angry with me.
Did they not want me there? Did they think me an intrusion into their final peaceful lives? Were they wondering if, even now, could they not avoid the bothersome noises of the living?
While in the midst of my shooting a grand ode to someone's father, as my own response to these questions, I quietly said an apology and gently tiptoed my way to the next grave.
But, not before I got the shot, of course.
I was deeply in my element. I ventured farther in the cemetery, or as far as my almost spent battery would allow, shooting many of the same scenes over and over again from just about every angle. But for an almost empty second battery I never got bored and I never had a reason to stop.
I also never did get to meet up with my group.