When I lived in France 25 years ago, I lived near a cemetery. (Along with a number of other places….) The other day, as we prepared to leave and say our goodbyes, we visited the cemetery as a last hurrah. Our hosts lived next to the cemetery still where I once lived with them, but we were actually staying at their daughter’s home since she had a much larger place to accommodate the 5 of us. As we arrived early in the morning, the fields were close by and the smells were very nostalgic of a time long ago. It was August 19th, but already there was autumn in the air and it was a crisp cool morning and we’d be buying hot cocoa and croissants within the hour before hitting the freeway to head far North on to Belgium. There is something remarkable about the way smells can quickly evoke powerful memories and that morning brought me way back to my 15th year of life with the scent. Anyway, I used to walk over to the cemetery while I lived there. Nobody living was ever in the cemetery, yet it was fascinating. It was definitely not the well manicured lawn filled cemetery of my Utah town, but a place of fascinating mausoleums. We walked the rows and rows of cross covered tombs and then said goodbye. I wasn’t looking forward to the goodbye part of the trek cause I wouldn’t be seeing them again, since my hosts were elderly people, it was especially poignant and heavy.