Tradition

Just before Christmas there is always a steady tide of visitors to the graveyard beyond the field.

This morning as I was standing guard over Theresa, the old one eyed turkey ( she needs guarding when eating her bowl of corn as the sheep always bully her mercilessly), I watched as lone figures started to arrive at the Churchyard with Christmas wreaths clutched in gloved hands.

The tradition of Christmas wreaths on graves must be a comforting yet bittersweet affair and by Christmas Eve almost all of the newer graves behind the Church will be decorated with circles of Holly, spruce and Christmas flowers.

Our Graveyard is where I would like to be buried. To the North of it lies the pretty Church, and  to the South , fields of horses and the farm of Pen-y-cefn beyond. (Pen-y-Cefn was old Mrs Jones' farm) To the East is the Rectory and the rectory glebe and to West lies my field full of poultry, who are always in constant motion and activity.

The graveyard is surrounded by greenery and animals.

It's peaceful but in a strange way, a dynamic place to be.

As Theresa bolts down her corn, Meirion, another old face from the village, arrives with yet another wreath and as the geese bicker loudly with  Polenta ( the large aylesbury drake) I wave over as he totters between the gravestones to lay it down in the winter sunshine.

I feel like shit, only because I am tired after last night's shift

Being outside and  watching the potentially melancholic  to-ing and fro-ing at the Church , is somehow rather relaxing  and comforting

It's become a tradition all of my own

The Graveyard from the West

Anyhow, With The Christmas Build up, reading blogs will the the last thing on most peoples' minds. so I will take this opportunity to say here's hoping everyone has a  peaceful and gentle Christmas.

Some people here will and some won't , that is the way of the world

I just hope that everyone will