Near where I grew up and lived for some twenty seven years is a cemetery that is pretty much like a thousand other cemeteries around the United States. There are manicured lawns, headstones for the lost beloved, and the sense of absence or loss that always hangs about these places. If you find it though, there is a small road that takes you back past the cemetery, over a small bridge, and to another place that seems far less holy but far more powerful. It is called Tyrone Sunken Garden and is, truly, a garden of stone. Supposedly the former owner had brought stones from across the globe together in this garden and had laid it out in a circle, with a stone in the center and pathways out from it, like a wheel. There are stone gates you go through and each stone is carved with the name of a U.S. state that tells you what the state’s bird and nickname are. The garden is beautiful and the shame of it is that wrong-minded people will come and either vandalize the area or perform some manner of dark ritual in the hopes of gaining power they’d never be able to wield.
Make no mistake, there is something strange about the garden but there too is something that draws you there. There is something haunted about the place, as if it is waiting to be re-discovered and loved anew, as if it is waiting patiently for that time but its patience is wearing out. Perhaps it’s just an effect of the dime store Satanism that has plagued the area in recent years but it just feels as if something is there with you and there’s a weight on you as you wander from stone to stone. A weight you don’ t easily forget.
Welcome to the garden…
(While you’re here – check out my podcast about the Gardens and check out my fiction, maybe you’ll find something you dig.
Check out this follow up post as well.)