"Have you noticed that the street is cobblestone Denmark? It is of stone. We did it as part of the agreement that would, at last, acquisition of this land in 1825. "Words are Stephen Collins, Director of Dissenters Cemetery, to start our journey to heaven, including hydrangeas and loquat.
is not the first time here, obviously. But never had entered Denmark 14, the gate heritage, with its marble staircase in a spiral, guarded by mysterious carved stone owls. "For more than a century," continued Stephen, "our coexistence was difficult. A few years of opening the door, there was an earthquake. The church blamed us, 'heretics' and most of the people believed them. "
A Chileans bother them cemeteries. To me, fascinate me. I think, immediately, in one of my favorite poems, "Children" by William Carlos Williams (1883-1963):
Occasionally we found a clear violet
yellowfin
but not many large blue
and large
cemetery in the forest we collected
several
was a family called Foltette
a large family with many children's graves and we collected
bouquets of violets and we left one on each headstone
What
what color are the violets after all? "Yellow, purple, or blue? I have no idea. And what are the children referred to in the title? Do Foltette? Or do they play innocently in the woods? Nobody knows. We enjoy the circle of life. There is no reason to explain it. Cemeteries naked
our ambitions. We emptied of internal noise. We clean inside and out.
But Dissenters Cemetery is different. It is a monument to the struggle for freedom, a testament to tolerance and diversity. Here lie our martyrs and those who were born in territories such as unpronounceable, chose to die here in the last corner of the world.
Still, it's hard to explain the mysterious power of narcotics here. Perhaps, just like in "Children" is not necessary. Just wandering between surnames Mackay, Garland, Sutherland, Hucke, Porter, Trumbull, etc. Every time I come, flying. Feel like I've entered a 19-century apothecary, with its oak shelves packed with bottles of yellow labels written in English and German, tell great tales of yesteryear. And suddenly, I feel I've come to the fragrance aisle, barely perceptible after centuries of neglect, but stick equally strong, with his tee shot taken from the silent melancholy.
