Maybe it's just where I'm from but neither the churches nor adjacent graveyards (churchyards we called them) were pretty places. They were never particularly big either. Being predominantly free-ish presbyterian up there in the Highlands of Scotland, the churches are dour and the policies around them similarly grave (excuse the pun).
But they were beautiful in their plainness and serene. Most of them in my immediate area were near the sea so were blasted somewhat. Trees and bushes were stunted and some of the older markers in local sandstone evidenced the erosion of wind and rain. I fell in love for the first time when I was fifteen or sixteen, I think it was. All the supersensitivity that accompanied that time in my life along with the unreciprocated ardour made for delicious and extended bouts of melancholy. Some of which were spent in one graveyard in particular which in turn overlooked the house of the object of my desires and affections and the sea beyond. I must have appeared an odd rook perched on the graveyard wall, up on the hill against the sky in my regulation black and more black (de-rigueur for the time garment-wise)and waiting for a glimpse. ...I suppose that would be seen as stalking nowadays....ah well, how our world has changed. Les (now in London) npimh Our Town - Iris De Ment
