On the side of the road leading to the busiest area of my town is an old, sprawling, cemetery. It spreads all along the road, and if you look into the cemetery, you can tell it goes on for thousands of graves. 

I pass the cemetery many times in a week, and every time I do, I notice a big, round patch of trees. The trees tower over the rest of the cemetery, and they are distributed in a circular area. I explore the cemetery with my sisters, and the biggest thing that I notice is that the patch of trees is planted in a huge, inverted dome-shaped dip in the ground. While my sisters and I were exploring, we decided to call the dip the “bowl,” because of its almost perfect symmetry. 

Throughout the rest of the cemetery, the trees are small and young, but in the bowl, the trees are so big I can barely fit my arms around them. The bark is scratchy and damp under the pads of my fingers. There is a deep layer of pine needles covering the ground, when I walk, my steps are cushioned and quiet. Once in a while, I step on a twig and a sharp, echoing crack rings out. 

The rhythmic sound of birds chirping high in the trees is calming and soft. Squirrels leap from limb to limb, and swarms of bugs fill the air.

The cool evening air rushes over us, and tastes of maple and spring. We take deep breaths, and relax in the evening light. The rain has just stopped pouring minutes before, and the air is thick and refreshing.

The ground smells strongly of rain and wet dirt. 

As we stroll around the cemetery, I notice little white flowers growing around all of the gravestones. Once in a while, there are bouquets lying on the ground, scattered by the wind. 

Evening light peers through the treetops casting a soft blue glow, and a cool breeze sweeps over the freshly cut grass. As my sisters and I meander around the edge of the bowl, I notice the beautiful, almost perfect, symmetry of it.

Alice Toussaint Pittman is a member of the Youth Travel Blogging Mentorship Program

All photos courtesy and copyright Alice Toussaint Pittman