not to die in vain {london tales}

sheri reynolds describes in a gratious plenty what l. recently wondered about in a comment. whenever i'm traveling, i end up in one graveyard or another. don't think it's weird either, because it's the one place that's pretty timeless, a mood i'm often chasing. for we are mortal and we all have our ways in getting on with that truthful realization.

i've passed fulham cemetery three times over as many years, and this time i do jump off the bus, even if it's to quickly walk in and out again, chased by hungry squirrels. from the busride i remember west brompton, one of the magnificent seven (cemeteries). it's supposed to lie in the hood.

to say brompton cemetery is more appealing to the eye rather sounds like an understatement. as i'm curbing the swanky lanes, passing a group of cemetery guards on their morning tea break and feeling a few rain drops trickling down my collar, i happen upon the colonnades. they majestically lead me further on towards the chapel, at the southern side of the cemetery. there's a few more visitors besides me, listfully strolling by. we probably all come to look and find our piece of mind.

as i'm literally making my way round the modestly domed chapel (in the style of the basilica in rome), the rain clouds rapidly draw in and i find i'm making a run for shelter. under the east collonades i patiently wait out the third shower of the day.

just then a text message rolls in, asking me if i'm having fun? fun might be inappropriate for my current surroundings, but if i was to say i was having fun, would you think me awfully weird? ☻

{more london photos here.}