Cemeteries are filled with ghosts. Almost every large and historic cemetery has a ghost story or two tucked beneath the tomb stones. Even small cemeteries tell stories. I have been to large and small cemeteries and chased ghosts in large cities and in the country. I love cemeteries and I love the stories they tell. I have spent a lot of time with the old cemeteries and old tombstones, but today I went to a small cemetery that merged new with old. Although the old graves whispered of secret histories which usually call to me, today I found myself deeply touched by the new graves in this little cemetery. While the old stones were forgotten, over grown, and so worn down the names were hard to discern, the new graves were beautiful and as lovingly tended as the most elaborate garden. They told stories of human emotion. Today I found graves covered with gardens and decorated with toys. I found them topped with fairies and situated amidst gardens of wind chimes that sang in the wind whispering of fresh sorrow. I always believe that, at least in part, the search for ghosts is a quest to explain death. It is a quest to make death somehow more bearable and more understandable. These graves reminded me that behind every ghost story there is the sorrow of loss.