I went for a walk this evening.

A walk that I have been meaning to take, actually since I moved in last July.

Usually I exit my apartment's parking lot and head for Westhiemer. Really not even considering the sidewalk to the left.

Today I turned to the right, my view down the street was cloudy and misty from the approaching rain. Reluctantly I turned back, deciding it was best not to get soaked on this night.

As I walked past the entrance to my parking lot, just as I was about to turn in, I felt compelled to keep walking. So, I did. Remembering that I never had visited the cemetery that is my neighbor.

I've wanted to explore this derelict plot for sometime. Just to see what I could see, really. To let it evoke the superstitions and feelings that I knew it would. To let it play on my intuitions, to let my imagination and psyche conjure what they will.

As I walked down the side walk, I became aware that their seemed to be a distinct feeling arising in me. A feeling of evoked nostalgia. A feeling as if I was momentarily leaving the concrete hustle and bustle of this part of Houston. Almost as if I was entering a section of the true old south.

This feeling seemed to grow in me. As I came along side the cemetery I realized how it rambles on back, much farther then I expected. The low hanging unpruned Mulberries, Live Oaks, Chinese Tallow, Wax Myrtle and Native Hackberries camouflage it's size well.

The grass is nearly knee deep. Causing me to hesitate. Finally I located a very narrow gravel path. A path who's end I could not see. A path I found myself hesitating to take that first step onto. For with that step, I would truly be entering a by gone realm. Stories of unsuspecting folk stepping into fairy rings for what seemed a minute, but who were actually trapped within for a lifetimes span flitted through my memory.

With a tug on the leash by Mia, I found myself walking forward. The sounds of the city seemed a bit more distant, the past a bit closer in reach. I headed down the path, seeing dates. 1936, 1918, 1864 . . . It went on and on.

As I came to the end of my path, I came to a rather large family plot, a vault actually. The soil had heaved it in some areas, and consumed it in others, I had visions of looking a little to closely to find one of the lids slightly ajar . . .

I did not look any longer.

As I exited the cemetery, I saw old heirloom varieties of flowers growing wild in drifts.... Homestead purple verbena, 12 apostles, and the grassy stems of what I think might be gladiolas grew in abundance.

I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and into the city. I felt the sensation of Mosquitos all about me. I swatted the last of the blood drinkers off of me. Leaving blood smeared on my forearms and forehead.

Passages from Rice, coming back to haunt me. Passages of spirits being attracted to blood. Images of spirits attaching themselves to my unintended offerings.

Wahhhhhh.....

Can we say ebejebies?

As I left, I wondered if it had a name?

Almost in answer to my question I looked up to see a nearly hidden, very small, old sign constructed of welded iron. Elements of Art Nuevo embedded in it's style. It said simply.

College Memorial Park

I see a trip to the library for some interesting local history research in my near future.