The banshee walked through London’s cemeteries and thought of families in grief, candle-lit churches and funeral parlours.
Every young, strapping cyclist was a yellowed photograph, and every beautiful jogger a beloved grandmother on a chimneypiece. The banshee listened out for carrion crows sing amongst the birds. Grief was an autumn leaf decomposing on the burial earth, and death a stage – winter’s final act.
She stopped to read Victorian names on tombs and dedicatory engravings on soggy benches. Nearby squirrels and cat-sized rats scattered away as dog walkers approached.
Stood between the living and the dead, the banshee smiled, fully recharged.
Cemeteries help us explain our evident finitude. Inspiring text. London cemeteries - Parisian, Japanese and even Consolação, in São Paulo - are lessons in art and history. I had the privilege of visiting London's Highgate Cemetery. Hugs and happy walking and poetic reflections.